Avocado Secret
When the widow wrote
how her husband
once said she was like
a perfectly ripe avocado,
I wanted to rush right out
and buy one. Examine
its tough exterior,
creamy...
I want to write about nipples even though
no word is safe I write about nipples
because they make me uncomfortable
and the things I cannot touch
with...
Tossing away sandwiches,
chewing gum, cigarettes,
he made his heaven from wrappers,
commerce’s carapace. Who would discard
the meat of the thing: shake out
the book and bow to
the...
Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves.
Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams.
Both a season and a reason left on leave.
Now a memory left...
L’Auteur Fatslug
Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed
before the movies infiltrated their thoughts.
He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg—
or, depending on his...
In the photo of the kitchen fire,
We are dressed for Christmas:
Me in a flammable hand-me-down jacket,
Her in her costume jewelry
And her Edward Scissorhands t-shirt.
The...
My father, tangled in the height of adolescence,
wept outside Old Saint Paul’s Church as spring died,
reading Desiderata. The poem lay inscribed
in rock at the...
True Story Metaphor for My Parents' Divorce
In this shrinking house, I am still growing,
my wrist gripped between window and sill,
one toe pinched in neat...
Raised architecture of gold leaf
Time-gone smoke darkened
the possible reflection. Museum light shadows continue
to tweak the narrative.
Gold demands candlelight.
Or maybe candlelight demands...
a february afternoon withrumi and bach
thick crust dense walnut breadhe tears to add to the lamb stewcarrots onions peas a stockof pureed turnip kale...
In Florida, Visiting My Father Who Has Parkinson’s and Dementia
Like sand dunes, his cheeks are sliding away and his white hair has collectedin tufts...
