Six Meetings with White Flowers

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good

The 9th and 10th of August

The 9th of August I water echinacea and watch melons grow. I find the scattered feathers of Turkeys in the  morning, and the blood dripped dried below. I watch infinity’s strata unfold as keets corralled  amass and grow into spotted Guinea Fowl.  I recall, remember, am reminded  of the depth of space, the tininess of

I am from here

Somewhere on the border,  where the cold and the dry kills everything that needs to be killed,  somewhere around here is where I’m from.  Where the weeds are lush and the grass is gone.  Where the cow’s milk tastes dirty and the breast milk tastes sad.  Where bodies are cremated, not buried, and you can

Some Thoughts on Love

Some thoughts on love  Some thoughts on affection  I work my way up into no expectations  And coax away the need for labels  When I stare at your hand resting across the dinner table,  And notice the fine scars across some shape of a palm  That could belong to anyone  But because it’s not anyone,

Imagined Sea Creature

I am fixated  On a certain kind  Of imagined sea creature  That doesn’t exist yet, But has also  Been clawing through the muck  On the pond scum floor  Of my stomach, Always. It loosens clots of dirt in my belly,  And is made of white-hot metals  That repel the water around it,  Orbs of burning

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End of Decade

(translated from Portuguese)   31 December 2020 Unborn moon of winter: There is no more I to summon you. I’ve passed through the oceanic waters of the continent And see you now – it is summer.    The beings who roam and vest Phrases and verbs and ecstasys Live, moon! Live! Like me.    The

Spleen

The spring and I are strangers now, extending hungry glances  through fat green stems and the blush of fallen berries— those beloved friends  of the pilgrim’s foot.   More and more I slip into the soil to read the pages of rock.  Retreating to the muddy infinite, I spy the fleshy leviathan,  earthworm tonguing a