He says: I want it to smell / like the real thing. // The real thing / is a landscape // of work and death–– / the names of our ancestors // slack in our mouths, / just the art of loving // your family line enough / to reproduce it.
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
“Triple Sonnet for Dragons Spitting Out Pearls”
and all I want is a naughty video / for the holidays recorded, rewind, replayed: / food, sex, survival, and surveillance
Epithalamion with Angel of the Apocalypse
I shrugged myself on again, nerves cool & wet / under my lace dress.
“THE GHOST” & “SYMPOSIUM: ‘AND IN TURN THE MUSICAL ART…'”
and this was our true life together: / your discontent registering forever / upon the maternal sea
Selections from while they sleep (under bed is another country)
"i am sorry for the things i said when i was broken that autumn when so many of us were killed"
