Here I am, the heavy bird, shifting high above, invisible at night, feathered black, as much a pit as any necrotic tooth in any unkempt mouth, crook-necked, scythe-headed, eyes…

  Please remember me as misunderstood, a butcher by circumstance, untrusted, but then proven when I turn back to the burning village, pull the missing child or injured brother from…

  Undead, undead, undead, undead, undead, undead —Bauhaus   When I say I like your earrings, it comes out sounding as though they sing to me like a dinner bell…

  In the shadows of the underwater world sound muffles. Strokes stretch your body over the taut skin of water, the mouth of the earth, the place where there is…

  On the night we visited your favorite restaurant, the sea churned outside the salt-crusted window. We couldn’t see you anymore, but we felt your small ghost lean over our…

  The world is trying to kill me one news story, one sneeze, one bad president at a time. And maybe I don’t care anymore if I’m dead. That’s what…

  Every time I hear a gunshot I feel it in the back of my teeth as a shiver,   a silver ache. Maybe it’s from the many years of…

  after “View of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer” by Vincent Van Gogh, 1888   White wash, black thatch, tiles of tangerine, marigold, ginger—saffron cathedral, and this patch before us—greens, blues, purples, a woman…

  gone through the back door late to let out the dogs I would not have found the ten-point buck pilfering the bird feeder, stunned as I with his hungry…

  My nature poem has air conditioning, but no line breaks. My nature poem doesn’t care what your nature poem thinks; that is its nature. Though it has never met…

  in honor of Stewart   “Art, useless as tits on a boar.” —Diane Seuss   A poet once said that a poem is a synapse, the space between neurons;…

  begins with the sight of someone else’s eyes, voice pulled taut   by a ribbon of smoke, apples of cheeks reddened like seawater   in the evening light. A…