Juvenilia

wait

10.28.2004 Juvenilia

Go long you say while we lay in bed. Begging, in some sense, Things like our bed have hair— rolled into your fingers into a ball. We are classic. In some sense, naked. A bowl of fruit on the floor, torn tickets I jot things on, We listen to Dylan. Claudia’s pink jaw gleams, she [...]

Tagged as: For Alex, Love Poems

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the dinnerman

04.13.2004 Juvenilia

I’m a dinnerman an I arrive—meats, green peppers, nuts, and milk—pull the truck to my plate and pour out. Mess hall. Strapping young guns at my feet asking ‘are you going to eat that’ as if you can ever finish, as if as if, eyes shut, you can hitchhike from memory. Lone wolf dinnerman. Self [...]

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I, you, we, and your sister

04.09.2004 Juvenilia

Bread passes out in church—her perch. ibble I faint the way I did, dishwater rattling against my hips, I really broke the bird. never lucky enough to find water in an ocean or mineshafts at the copper pits. She Honey-ed a tree who did not not say yes and made a stove inside of it. [...]

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Blue

11.28.2003 Juvenilia

And I think about him, two handed in little hand, blooming about life, with this child. This little puddle of rainwater. This slippery thing in my hand, fish, burn, cold cut. There’s a bone in his hip that pulls his entire body out of the ocean. I pressed it with the blue tips of my [...]

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The thing

11.20.2003 Forms

The thing   about the telephone is a simple thing. It rings   and it doesn’t ring. It says no.   It says no as long as you look at it.   It looks longer than it is from the jack to the dial.   So you dial his number.   The bone of the [...]

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To the tiny computer that watches me write.

10.06.2003 Juvenilia

Only to be answered, answered back from the bottom of a closed trunk that I’m not good and you, fucking computer head, you’re exactly like my ex-boyfriend. Mind your business. Stop tapping your feet. And when I write about boat blown over, I bet you know what I really meant, that I used to sing in the shower. That all over the [...]

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Old Tyme Sonnet

09.29.2003 Forms

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 [...]

Tagged as: Out

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I’m a small farmer in Virginia.

09.29.2003 Juvenilia

I live on a small farm where I far. All my land with cash crops. My daughter hauls buckets up the hill, nothing too fancy, dark under her arms. We do without. We do our work right past it, touching the thumbs of leaves, ripping them off. It isn’t illegal to kill anything when you [...]

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Apartment

09.18.2003 Forms

- For Alex We liked the door, to linger there whispering before bed Did you lock it? Did you lock it? –more like an accusation. We played two-man tag all the way back to the kitchen. Laid like lost suitcases, his and hers, watching a plane drag its shadow into space and wondering how to stop [...]

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Skirts lift skirts

09.02.2003 Juvenilia

A thigh-high hem of silk. Fleshy and French-looking, the kind Audrey Hepburn flashed in some Turner Classic. What you might not know is that the whole movie was based on those dark stockings: the props hauled in, the script double-spaced, the grip, gaffer, rolls of film. Even the plane was strategically placed, constantly carrying something [...]

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