Poetry
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(the horatio monologues) iv
ivdaydreamthe words you cannot read abandon themstare at a space on the wall where nothing’s writtenin the gallery of your head on a wall hangsa perfect rendering of a pretty wench’s facean accurate remembranceof what her paps and her hips do to a gowndo arithmetic think fingers calculatethe number of months of weeks of daysbefore Continue reading
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say i’m
say i’m given leave from my evenings and the nights of my weekfrom the books i read and the paper on which i writefrom my mornings and my weekday afternoonsthe lectures and the lectern at which i standleave to ride in a merchant’s carton the road out of my entire life Continue reading
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five oclock’s the first to leave
five oclock’s the first to leaveit also goes out through the staffonly doorits mouth’s a horn it leaves behindits voice is the sound of the hornits word is its voice that goes out in the rainthat goes through the rainwithout an umbrella without getting wetit wraps itself around the parking lotit gets into parked cars Continue reading
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the hipwaders
after you’ve movedthe pipes through the thigh deepdew and drops of riverwater hunched on the grassblades on the leaves on the cornhusks when you come in leavethem out Continue reading
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in a driveway
in a drivewayfar in the north of the cityat an hourin one of the long nights whenbedroom windows in the house next door becomelightbulbsa gallon of blood pulls open a car dooras the kids next doorbegin to dress for school returnthemselves to the levis they wore yesterdaythe blood turnsbends itself at the knee shapesa skirt Continue reading
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it was a day like any
it was a day like anythrough the upstairs hallway most of the afternoon had passedall the doors out of the daylit hours remained closedin the time behind one of those closed doors i sleptread studied wrote talked to myself sleptthen the habit of the years was brokenas the late afternoon sun litthe hallway through a Continue reading
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yesterday’s birth was bred
yesterday’s birth was brednine months ago or sono bullleft handforearm almost to the elbow plastic baggedpushed into the cow through the asscervix graspedneedle in the right handthick as a slender finger pushedinto the cow through the vulvathrough the cervix in the handinto the muscle skinnedbag the uterussemen in the needle releasedbull in the semen turnedloose Continue reading
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i want the coffee
i want the coffee to come to my cup madeto be cherished and enjoyedlike a mother knitted sweaterso tell me always how mariaand the many who bringpails full of cherry babies pickedfrom coffee plantspour them outover the hundreds of thousandsthe millions who sleepalready in the bed made for them on the concrete pad patio under Continue reading
About Me
I have a day.
Jake's Flea Market 