A broken house housebroken by the weight of boredom, waiting. Look into the bore domed in its stones, a window pane. The pain winnowed through mortar around the door,…

  —with a line by Fred Marchant There have always been storms. Earth born from storm. The landscape, a particular haunting. I flew toward the epicenter after many fled. Met…

  All this talk of pre or post Freudian— the world operates like it does despite what we think. Our bodies are hunger, light, desire and lack of, in a…

  When my brain was a mass of static, I wanted a disembodied hand to creep through the door and cast its filmy glow across the walls of the attic…

  Someone hid the fountain in a corner of their backyard, covered it with junk, but I could see it, through the chain-link fence, though not at first—when I was…

  I'd like to welcome everyone to the last session of the last day. Thanks for being here. Thanks for sticking around until the end. We're probably all going to…

  I. I hope you have lived long and well. I hope you never again fear a swerving car, head- lights off like a box turtle’s neck protected inside an…

  I was walking in a forest when I found a book of prose poems by Charles Baudelaire floating in a calm creek. I knelt into the shallow water and…

  The earth might be uninhabited except for +++++++++++++++The easy ascent of the sun Orange like a relic or bullion from the shipwreck Breaking through, divine–– Ultra-blue light which +++++++++++++++Can…

  Yards of clover surrender rabbits with faces of Byzantine saints. Darting around as if tripping on acid.  Sunlight, a shiny lure Winking out of sight.  The ground is embarrassed…

  these tiny moments often get away from me, flapping their wings, somehow related to dad driving over the mail box, yelling about killing himself, or neatly arranging his paints…

  it might be possible to take up a pencil —Donald Hall, “Without” It might be possible to take up a pencil without waiting for a good Muse-wrassle. To grab…