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Deathexpand_moreWas that lipstick on Don’s cheek? This was too much for her to take.
She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.
The Poet Laureate reads three poems in his New Hampshire home.
The men here don’t know where to place me, call me exotic grail.
When I’m reading him I feel myself come closer to you than usual.
A woman’s long bare legs stretched up at the edge of the graveyard.
The past is never done with. It begs to be fed, demands to be eaten.
I played a game I called ocean, resisted my need for air.
No one asked that, changed as he was, he do more than survive.
If it were fiction, calling the place Newtown would be too much.
The dead man’s suit coat is a good fit through the shoulders.
A story about money, values, and materialism—in just six words.
Isn’t it nice to think tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes yet?
I keep waking up on the edge of the black lake. He’s on the other side.
The website said November was a good time for appreciating bark.
The rings of Saturn flash their nothing yellows, nothing blues beautiful.
Nothing was permanent, no friend I made, no math test I took.
Rise the Euphrates, my first novel, grew out of a feverish dream.
What does it take for a woman like you to decide to do something?
A wildness and all the ways I could never be classy enough for pearls.
I have wasted your childhood, photographed you too much.
Brassy bullets fell against the floral comforter like little candies.
The boys came down out of the woods and crossed toward the dock.
My students are in rows, alive—day-picked apples cut by teeth.
I was always being left behind in the mud, a bandage around my eyes.
Tomorrow I’ll be ratted out about the hunting, but I knew it’d be worth it.
The alert says Warning: Wild Exotic Animals Loose.
When I was born I saw death devour the birth of something.
Like a bird with a broken wing I will smudge the line of the hopscotch.
