Wednesday, June 9, 2010


Never watched a spider before killing it before.
There were three

lined up across the sill, having made homes
from the two-inch height and foot-long width
between the floor-and-blinds, and wall-and-wall.

I looked at the middle one; it was moving.
At first all three suspended seemed like
family; either maiden sisters or

a mother (the middle one, most buxom)
with two daughters. Three women,
twenty-four thin legs, seventy-two

joints so delicate and fine.
My favorite girl was
doing something strange with hers.

Three of her pale-green limbs kept bending
as if caught deep in exercising grand pliés.
She kicked so vigorously I thought

for a second she must be dying.
But the control!—each of the three
returned to her face (or chest; my eyes

are not that good), and seemed to slide
along a fourth, something like a cat cleaning,
or a young girl with a sore leg.

I couldn’t tell if it was ritual or purpose.
One of the sisters started running
and freezing along the web

between them. I imagined her head cocked
cautiously toward me, a protective spirit.
The other stood stock-still, giving the impression

of a third act or final movement,
a dénouement.

Soliloquy III

Through me all things hold together, and,
apart from me,
nothing any grade-school child has ever made
has come to be. For long, that is.
Because I guess some things stick together,
but really for paper and most other
light dry materials, there is little hope
outside of me.
Unless they have grown dissolute and bowed
to the crude and slick idol of Tape.

Soliloquy II

Those fools! They know not
who / I / am,
running their grubby little hands
over my oceans, spinning me
sick as if I were a water-ball
or rubber balloon.
I belong among the stars
with my brothers.

Soliloquy I

Dawn—the rising of the once-set sun
struck madness in my seedy heart, and called
forth from inside of me new growths.
The days are evil. To be consumed
by moist, unfeeling fists, or set to burn

in hell-fire fitted with a rack for me?
Or, better yet, to be one purged
momentarily from the memory of those
who throw (can throw) our bodies into flame—
separated, here to rot
forsaken in the sun.

A Proposal

What’s your expiration date? Two-Percent asked Skim.
She churned (a little nervously) and said, May 12.
Hey, that’s not bad! he bubbled. Want to be my friend?
She wobbled fearfully along the shelf.

Disillusionment (Romans 5:3-5)

I hate my desires. Each of them,
in turn—I have
murder fantasies: they become
little men in little hats.
I give them faces;
I cut off their heads.
Goodbye, happiness! I shout.
Goodbye, you foolish love, you fool.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Psalm 90

I have no father the earth said
wearing a storm on his lips.
The mountains cry
I know no mother; no body
has ever known me.

My grass is all withered, for the sun
did not relent his shining.

Has the earth said I have no father;
does he carry a storm in his mouth?
Do the mountains cry
I know no mother; no body
has ever known me?

The work of my hands is all faded.
I put out the sun and all splendor sunk with him.

The earth did not disown his own father—
I put the storm in his mouth.
the mountains sing—
they echoed I know no mother, but I know now
the One who ever has known me.

Waters of Merom

There are horses, flaming
chariots of fire between the leaves
the gray cloud, the gold
light—did you catch it? there—
horses, flaming
chariots of fire.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


I am no longer Woman-Full-of-Holes.
And behind the skin of what I am
is you. Your name
can change a heart of stone to
shattered glass, to plaster, powder and to sand,
or flesh,
to more than thing-that-sometimes-beats-for-you. I am
whelmed in the over-flood, but me
and my body,

we float,

watching the idols and things that make holes
spark final flames and try to spit
red oil, and black oil,
on a sea that rises too steadily
to stop.

Trust (tr. v)

1. to want to wrap arms around the arms (of someone).
2. to think gold of (a spirit, a proposition, a face).
3. to hand one’s body to (a body).
4. having faith in (his) faithfulness.