Tag Archives: poet
In the resident smolder of lips, a seared prelude, announcing blatant recourse to the sheerest intent. Advertisements
At the severest hour, everything fell within. A banquet hall after the crash, after the deluge, and you, a mouse, courting lull, tracked pawprints in flour, stalking floorboards for crumbled manna. You, the mouse, with slow heaven firing your eyes, … Continue reading
It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading
Perhaps, Miss Sylvia, if there had been more sand on your beach, more sea to wash away the dead skin of pallid thoughts, more moonstruck nights rattling close to your fingers as you typed out the country of your heart, … Continue reading
Anne, lovely disturbed Anne, pinned by gravity, and bedded to cobbles, cherishing the vagrant destiny of clouds, and calming distance.
Listen to the spoken word track w/ music here. Don’t call it a Comeback— L.L. Cool J. wooing Sylvia Plath in broad daylight where they dance and get crazy theatrical doing the Lazarus (and doing it and doing it well) Sylvia … Continue reading
Dylan Thomas falls from his barstool in Heaven— God, tending bar, picks him up, turns to Job—Who am I to judge?
It was his mantra– Hurry slowly, syllables resigned to vigil.
Of myself and stars, he sang in forked, unsigned tongues– Words his place-holder.
Budding sorceress, basking in a siege of text– long shadows at dusk.