/ / / Long ago, I was a figlia with a fever.1 / Little filly, foaled in my dark star-bed2 / where I thought I’d die pretty soon. / / Lying there, my fists held candy eggs / of logic, molten math. My pink death already3 / long ago. I was a figlia with a fever / / & I doubled in the n...
Cain’s beard grows into Euclidean space: / its anchors catch on every form and drag them back. / He is a camera capacious enough to film the entire world / forever, and then rewound to unmake every wound. / I wait for it to stop once I am reunited with my family, / I fall asleep with my hand on...
It was now my younger brothers who had / philosophical objections to taking a bath. / / After I came back from the optician, / gold backs for earrings, aglets and fish scales, / / erasers’ edges, girls’ clean fingernails, / were no longer fuzzy, a probability cloud, / / but evident...
Security contractor / is the term preferred / by a growing industry / of private actors who, / at the sharp end of conflict, / aren’t kidding ourselves / about the economy. Money / / is a country I can take with me. / I walk through the battlefield / as through my home town, / fully real...
for Nadja Guggi / / / Light’s going, going out over the houses, / built above a century ago; / yet what they saw of attrition’s losses, / no, I wouldn’t know. / / But now this one long up for sale / is sold, is nearly emptied; / and by a wrought-iron area railing, / you appear to stand...
Save your congratulations and your flowers / My baby is sunbathing on the moon / And with the eternal blue light she glows / In her clear house, with shutters / Save your kind regards, and visits / With doughnuts and kisses / Save your little nothings that amount to nothing / Save it save it ...
Some nights I catch the smell / of the lives of others, / all that is awry, agley, / the washers loose / the springs rust-bunged. / Or the sheerest glee / I hope and fear that friends may feel, / their refound wallet / or the cat returned after a week / and just a little thin. / And when ...
And now a hermit thrush / the monster never heard / nor Frankenstein nor Keats / nor Mz N till this moment / Where are the songs / of spring Ay where & / What are the songs / of your climate / ingeret’s ring the changes / of the changing songs / Did you steep too long / in the tea of your...
Though they’ve all the rest of the field to graze in / the horses stand at the iron railings by / the main road and philosophically survey / the mode of transport that replaced them. / / It seems a silent vigil at their own demise. / Of course it could be they just like the trees / that line...
In the darkling hours when the estate riles in sleep / or slumps half-kaylied in the television’s blue, / / you crouch in the blackness, hand stifling your mouth, / breath held for the sound of your child’s breath. / / You are afeared. You are there again. Pig Wood. / Its name filling your ...