Search Party there’s no way outI really am someonewho likes my ownInner Mongoliaup beyond the green steppewhere slow happens quicklylike freezing to deathholding fast to thatfrosty walking stick and then I think lovingly that had I been a paramour I would likely be drawn to skyrockets that lit the barriowith...
The Past of Be the airedalewas the sole member of my packprofoundly inane who said our love is water under the bridgesay something that’s not been said so muchsays Bill Witherskiss my ass we have, each other, nothingand we will give it to each other < Back to Poems ...
West of Love Be carefulwhen opening your heartand your headthe future Youmay consist of materialsof unknown originsandwiched betweenthe committee of limited faithand the medicinethat heals from withintake a peek at the saber-toothed tigerseduced to the tar pits reaching for a drink at the crossroadsone blanched paw at...
No moon, no man.Thus ends theprognostications. ...
what do you meanare you happy did a lizard crossour path on the wayto the churcha dog or a hare beloved we sawa spideran owl hootsbetween the housesto be sure we never enteredwith the left foot first purple pansies pickedon a fine dayfor a promise of rain ...
is a suspect even you the squirrel earned that brush of a tail hiding her eyes but still learnedwhat Eve gave time will reveal if you concealed a toad’s heart to your difficultsatisfaction spit three timesin my face if you must but we saw you do it perhaps you met some flatfooted fellowon a Monday morning the sea will...
if a thousand years passed in an instant I might arrive to great festivals of firemy defining sorrows defended by charms of ashes in my shoes a germ of fertility burned from the civilized and the savagetorches blazing to bless the bantam crop with smoke bonfires on the periphery to fend off lightning and...
you don’t say muchbut you have an unquiet mindtears of mournersweighing restlesswindows shuttered bolts shot in the housethough the living lifted your bedof pigeon featherspall placed right-side outon the coffinnone of us found wormsin an oak appleand acorns came togetherin the basinfor wedding bells ...
I had an idea but I lost italone like the yellowhammerdrinking drops of temptation’s bloodno tingling in my left ear to speak ofwho are the unwell wishersI hadn’t robbed an eagle’s nestthough the onus is hungbring some church dust for my lingering deathmay-cats chase glowwormsalmost never...
trees don’t remain in feardespite those whostare from windows with guts hollowat break of daybut I do cutting a wand of rowan wishing that ravings of hope the tolerant armof oaks would bear ...
I thought sadness would save methe sun would bow his facepigs first to see the wind at low tide tell me all I need to knowmisreading clues of dressmakers that dropped their scissors drank rainwater infallibly washed with coinslegacies of swans singing their deathsa call for rose petals...
sü-pər-ˈsti-shən Machines are metal, they serve us, we take care of them.This is to me, and this is to you. – Joanne Kyger superstition: a notion maintained despite evidence to the contrary– Merriam-Webster Borrowing from the origins and wid espread diffusion of superstitious beliefs, the poems in sü-pər-ˈsti-shənare interested...