I almost slid off, once

Imagining this cloud was a pall

And the moon was a body.

I don’t know who put coins over her eyes.

frank stanford, crest

...my identifying features

are rapture and despair.

Remember this one? It made it into the SCAD photo exhibition that will take place next quarter... deepest gratitude to Manuel and his friends who allowed me to photograph their memorial. 

...and I am the rain

and the others all
around you, and the loneliness you love,
and the universe that loves you specifically, maybe,

and the catastrophic dawn,
the nicotine crawling on your skin

And you could use some help today, packing in the dark, boarding buses north, putting the seat back and grinning with terror flowing over your legs through your fingers and hair...

I was always waiting, always here.

Know anyone else who can say that.

My advice to you is to think of her for what she is:

one more name cut in the scar of your tongue.

What was it you said, "To rather be harmed,

than harm, is not abject."

you do look a little ill.

but we can do something about that now.

can't we.

the fact is your a shocking wreck.

do you hear me.

the wind is so strong today- the rushing of it through the trees in my tree house & the sunshine all cold and sparkly like on the ceiling and my bed is enough to utterly transport one to an imaginary beach.  the wind is so frequent it's exactly like standing with the ocean in front of you and not being able to hear anything above the surf.  beautiful day to stay in bed here in my oceanic treehouse, but a dangerous day to ride your bike to the library...

Jude put his hand up to his mouth and said down the table I think Jesus is going
off his rocker get Simon to tell you what he asked me
Simon says he didn’t want to talk about politics or dreams or nothing he just said
Jude next time y’all are over in Mesopotamia why don’t you pick me up a few
bottles of that wine they make over there
sure thing Jesus I says

Frank Stanford, The Last Supper

Nothings a gift, it's all on loan.

I'm drowning in debts up to my ears.

I'll have to pay for myself,

with myself,

give up my life for my life.

I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,

I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow

glass, but that comes later.

And the part where I push you

flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,

shut up

I'm getting to it.

Richard Siken

Explaining why, in two-ton manifesti, thinkers sally forth
with testaments and pipe bombs. Heaven help us:

spare us all your meaningful designs. Shine down or
shower forth, but (for the earthling's sake) ignore
all prayers followed by against, or for.

     

Heather McHugh, From the Towers

And your hands, for example,

like a warm liquid on my face

don’t evaporate as you take them away.

Nor are our betrayals silent,

although we listen only in passing.

We’re learning how to walk unlit streets,

to see threats instead of trees,

the right answer to a teenager

opening his knife. The answer is yes.

Always we couldn’t do otherwise.

Michael Ryan, "Prothalamion"

The woman I love is greedy,
but she refuses greed.
She walks so straightly.
When I ask her what she wants,
she says, "A yellow bicycle."

Robert Hass

If you're in Savannah today, you know what I know.
It's oatmeal weather: dark as midnight, cold, and incessantly rainy.

Knuckles of the rain

on the roof,

chuckles into the drain-

pipe, spatters on

the leaves that litter

the grass. Melancholy

morning, the tide full

in the bay, an overflowing

bowl. At least, no wind,

no roughness in the sky,

its gray face bedraggled

by its tears.
May Swenson, October

Many names, most given up as routinely
As the secrets of friends. If you're a cup
Will my lips profane your own? If a comb
Will I feel your teeth against my neck?
If a wall I will be darker than your shadow.
And if a door I will unlatch you, letting in
All the little foxes from the vineyard.

Averill Curdy, The God of Inattention

today was: staying in bed, cigarettes, and arthur miller. but damn it was beautiful weather, so glad i got these windows.

How will it be

to lie in the sky

without roof or door

and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift

how will I hide?
Mary Swenson, Question

A man sees a tiny couple in the distance, and thinks they
might be his mother and father.
But when he gets to them they’re still little.
You’re still little, he says, don’t you remember?
Who said you were supposed to be here? says the little
husband. You’re supposed to be in your own distance; you’re
still in your own foreground, you spendthrift.
No no, says the man, you’re to blame.
No no, says the little man, you’re out of proportion. When
you go into the distance you’re supposed to get smaller. You
mustn’t think that we can shrink and sell all the time to suit everybody coming out of the distance.
But you have it wrong, cries the man, we’re the same size, it is you who are refusing to be optically correct…

Russell Edson, The Optical Prodigal

having neither planes nor curves nor angles,

are composed of a continuous satiny white membrane

like the flesh of some interior organ of the moon.

It is a living surface, almost wet.

Lucency breathes in and out.

Rainbows shudder across it.

And around the walls of the room a voice goes whispering,

Be very careful. Be very careful.

My bed in the boughs, my blanket the clouds.

And this bed above the world, it's so full, just myself and my imaginary bedfellows who soak in secrets and keep me warm.

i live in a tree house.

one thing has nothing to do with the other,

but both are still true.

Gin, David St John

You know, your friends complain. They say

You give up only the vaguest news, and give a bakery

As your phone. Even your stories

Have no point, just lots of detail: The room

Was long and bright, small and close, angering Gaston;

They turned away to embrace him; She wore

The color out of season,

She wore hardly anything at all; Nobody died; Saturday.

These disguises of omission. Like forgetting

To say obtuse when you talk about the sun, leaving

Off the buttons as you’re sewing up the coat. So,

People take the little

They know to make a marvelous stew;

Sometimes, it even resembles you. It’s not so much

You cover your tracks, as that they bloom

In such false directions. This way friends who awaken

At night, beside you, awaken alone.