Russian Idyll

A Russian summer, nostalgic and dreamy, textured and spare, Bunin's landscape and lovers - all under the sun, in sunflower fields, awaiting inevitable snow... awaiting, perhaps, the exile's return from Paris, from Nobel - like Gorky, poor Gorky, the dead son, the shuttered villa... ("I dare say it's time for all us nineteenth century writers … Continue reading Russian Idyll



These things I warrant, and see, these ghosts, aspirations and hopes these fading things. My eyes, in a cracked mirror. This ghost, clattering... I talk so fucking fast. A poet of listicles. Shallower than Plath. No clue where my inner Prufrock sits. As if there could be another... Failure, to be clear, bounced repetitive, just … Continue reading Eh…

A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore

for W. C. Williams, and some others There is a flickering of midnight torches along the edges of Atlantic beaches, these shuttering retreats, ghosted fall houses of Eastham, Wellfleet's quiet drive-in, Truro's barque emerging above the waterline. Oh, Newman, what bitter jokes, and shambling hallos you wave, across a rocky continent, toes that know Pacifica … Continue reading A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore

Dark Waters

On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake we buried the dead, we buried the memories of the living, and the dead. The Black Scorpion scuttling On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake. Oh goddess, oh Uhamiri, we see you in the mists that rise - thin fingers grasping at the sun to pull … Continue reading Dark Waters

A Rapture

like a cat... lithe limbed, long torsoed, strutting across my path, that glance... and I am caught up in your scent, musk, your nails like claws now digging into skin, bloody gashes along my back... fierce bites - half-moons rising along my shoulders, my breath in yours, backs arching... screams in alleyways, bedrooms boardrooms... you … Continue reading A Rapture