Skunk Story

He said I saw this skunk roll on the balls of an elliptical Downbeach where wheeled it down this downy flare I  remember this story for shit without stippling the letters ever after in asterisks clawing the bland sand. Shore birds, sure. My mother was one,  as I am a hamper for my own swooping devices still-new to this type of …

Spanish

Today I remembered I am 28 and you were 28 when we met. What a terrible age to be. Terribly lonely to be in class reading footnotes. But then I was not 28, so I saved you. I wore a white dress on the breezeway. I was fixed and smoking on the breezeway. I was …

Charlie Letter

I am not sure knowledge is pure and this is troubling me today. So you say spoonbread and I’ll take that. But knowing is only the half of it, can you tell I’m reading Emily D? She is my little pincer. So don’t take offense. It’s busy bearing down and writing tinges of things, tired …

The Charlie Arrangement

Story-time.   How about the time I left my head in a tremendous city. The city, of course, is unnamed. Names fall off the city every time a new baby shows up squatting beside the fire hydrants.   So my baby, these cities—count them—are somehow a reconstitution of the present situation: God’s Government, but I …

Reading

It goes like this. The floor is covered in sheets. Not your sheets and they crunch and you’re laughing laying there, adjusting to someone , not sure if his eyes are blue or green, pale though, and smug. There’s no looking at him, so turn around. How warm everything is because his hands are cold. You’re hating …

New Years

So Christmas is over. I hope you’re happy. And New Year’s too—just to keep things interesting—it’s over. I drank 2 beers on New Years Eve, (What should we toast to? Oh, I don’t know. To this shit life. To this shit life). Only two, but I pretended to be drunk. I didn’t want to go home. …

Extended Reality

So. Someone drunk told me to write something real. Real, huh? Real like the oranges sagging in my backyard? Are those oranges real enough? No. I’m sure they’re not. Not even drunk, will you give me an orange. So I’ll move us into Christmas. I’ll tell you about a tree that my mother covered with …

Straight

So I’ll give it to you straight. September is for Thursdays. Or Mondays. Or whatever. It’s for lounging about the apartment after you’ve done half the reading for the next day (the other half will be read or not-read, depending). But right now, at this second, you’re thinking about stone (note: Jane says poets can’t …