let fly a little fart of knowledge

Baby Sonnet

here here here is baby way too mired in rubber rings and leftist leanings: meaning she’s rolling over now. A little gyre of hands and legs and head proceeding fitfully into history. Spitfully. It’s writ on the rags of overwashed elephants and throwaway pinks and the bunny infantry (could I) would I curb this development? …

Pantoun #2

In retrospect anyways, I wasn’t wanting to do it. Except maybe to undo my old wanting-to which (I thought I could) break– You know, swap out the undo pleasures for done ones, per say. I thought I could break you down. And that’s exactly what I wanted to say if, afterwards, you asked me exactly …

Pantoun #1

It’s Monday. Let’s go to Paris. My tongue Hands and Hair are Dying for Paris. Spread my Hands and Hair On the Bed Spread Me nearly Flat– Like a Map of the Bed (You tourist). Monsieur Flat– terer. Hand me the fleur. & Do Take that tour of yours to the Ground. My dumb tongue. …

Old Tyme Sonnet

I know you won’t. Not here. Not this time. Not in this house. Not even back in the back room, unbuttoning the lights. Not for all the flocks of dark birds in winter. So don’t ask me about the moon. There’s no bright thigh spread there, no animal sticking his snout in the gauze. Night …

Apartment

– For Alex We liked the door, to linger there before bed whispering  Did you lock it? –more like an accusation. We blamed eachother all the way to the kitchen. Laid like lost suitcases, his and hers, watching a plane drag its shadow into space and wondering how to stop it. Did you lock it? asking …