I started out singing in high school in the choir and in a garage band.
I am that last, that final thing, the body in a white sheet listening.
People who read poetry have heard about the burning bush, but when you write poetry, you sit inside the burning bush.
Brimming. That's what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.
Every time you write a poem it’s apocalyptic. You’re revealing who you really are to yourself.
To pull the metal splinter from my palm my father recited a story in a low voice. I watched his lovely face and not the blade. Before the story ended, he'd removed the iron sliver I thought I'd die from. I can't remember the tale, but hear his voice still, a well of dark water, a prayer. And I recall his hands, two measures of tenderness he laid against my face.
While all bodies share the same fate, all voices do not.
The train skimmed on softly, slithering, black pennants fluttering, black confetti lost on its own sick-sweet candy wind, down the hill, with the two boys pursuing, the air was so cold they ate ice cream with each breath.
I'm an ice sculptor. Last night I made a cube.
The United States has a huge budget deficit so taxes are going to have to go up and I certainly agree they should go up more on the rich than everyone else. That - that's just justice.
Are you pro- or anti-macassar?