The Mundane, Sublime and Fantastical: 165 New Poems (61-65)

2014-08-02 20.54.12


You & I on the couch this morning

You in your work clothes & I in my bathrobe

Both of us cloaked in silence


when is a good day to die?


Not Monday because she’s fair

Thursday maybe

because Thursday’s child they say has far to go


A list of words to go through:









Do words feel the tongue of the speaker?


In the middle of a sentence, a dream

After fucking like dogs pounding ourselves into each other

Intent on each of us becoming one other


When is a good day to die?


At the junction where Broadway meets Main

A heart falls out on to the road

& the bus brakes just in time


Look after your heart, mister!

What are you doing?

Didn’t your mother teach you

to take care of your heart?


May or August, perhaps

Any month but your birthday month

That would be altogether too cruel


2014-08-04 15.47.3262.

This week we swore we’d dismember language

We pinky-promised to make a list


We’d take first English apart word by inept word

We’d begin with articles


From Monday on, we’d dismiss the specific

the general, the commander & the war

& just like that:

there was no more war & no language for it


On Tuesday you suggested

that we bleed out the possessives

Nothing could belong to anyone or anything

Share one, share alike

& I was no longer your darling


So we buried Conrad in the backyard

Along with all five European languages he used to speak

We buried Marlowe beside him, greedy fucker that he was

along with all the declarations he made


By Friday we could still articulate love so we hanged on

to action words as political cowardice


Saturday, there was no more point

we opened blue caches of verbs

No subject

No verb

No object

No simple sentences to point towards complex existences


No subjects

No other

No thing

So we hummed ourselves to sleep


2014-08-03 11.18.32


Beloved, yesterday I sent my gal to the market

& she hasn’t come back


Beloved, I sent my daughter to the market

the loud one

the big one

the noisy one

the boisterous one

I sent my best self to the market

&  now she won’t come back


She was to pick up fresh vegetable, fruit

some other grocery — soap & the like


How long was she there?

Not very long, I expected her back any minute


Yesterday’s market isn’t there any more

That big, loud, boisterous space

where storied & money & goods changed hands is gone


All the souls fled except for the ones that hang around

Dancing in the breeze

& whistling through plastic bags that flap about


All the scattered things & bodies & embers

All the bits that used to represent life

All the stories that were interrupted mid sentence

when my daughter, strapped by some strangers

blew up into nothing


Yesterday I sent my life to the market

It’s as if I never existed before


Beloved, where did we take the wrong turn?


2014-08-02 20.25.13


Today you bury your son

breath in & breath out

How is it even possible?


Yesterday I sent my daughter to the market

& today you bury your son


Breath in & breath out

never stopping, never stopping

even in the middle of wracked grief

where did we take the wrong turn, beloved?




2014-08-04 16.58.39


Adjectives, nouns & adverbs

in a bowl

like fruit

from last week

starting to go bad

starting to have the sick sweet smell

of fruit going bad

starting to die

starting to know that fruit knows

that they’re dead

the moment that they’re picked from the tree


A collection of wilting words

waiting to be thrown out

into the compost