Poetry and The Metaphysical I

It makes sense. After all, without a demon, how else to make the top of your head blow right off?

Thinking as Burial Practice

Forgive this confused reverie, or should I say, this reverie of confusion.

Two Poems

So don’t let
man or the earthen
burning breasts in
your hair be my little
wet perfume.

Two Poems

i may be waiting
while you wait
in the antechamber

White Out

They are pouring laundry detergent in clouds over nurses and chefs and space shuttles and wedding dresses naming everything Whitehall and White Horse and Whitechapel and White Tower.

Lessons 1-10

stretched arms this
is lesson #4

Three Poems

Mush in a forehead. Rings around an eye. Concentric


Dead Men, Waking

Perhaps it is hardest for Miles to sleep because he is journeying into experience, that dreams for him are like a mortar shell, or a mosquito, or a startled kangaroo, or the outermost bands of a storm.

Two Poems

A disco ball breaks at the end of the fever.

Three Poems

Please, pardon my obsession
with the end of things.

Selections from Playing the Changes

What a joyful thought, to hop away from this musty
twilight bookshop air with a chapbook

Three Poems

like a god, entranced from above,
I felt the whales before I saw them, gorgeous

Two Poems

No matter how many times I paint my face with makeup or pile on nickel-plated jewelry, there are some things I’m not initiated into knowing.