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Winterexpand_moreHere’s the world, sweetheart. One word as small & large as a father.
It’s been months, and the fields are good for nothing but night talks.
Standing there in our small shadows, we discuss the ways of the dead.
For today, fuck it, it’s snowing, stay in. Eat your Wheaties dry.
He is too young even to be drinking let alone educating us.
The birds have all flown to Mars for water and Crisco and red.
A man drunk on the damage he made to a boy’s young mouth.
He’s gonna change the way we farm around here. Make it more like India.
The church was clearly the work of a madman driven crazy by the wind.
In the seventies a skier’s mettle was measured by the length of his skis.
It’s life that is hard: sleeping, eating, loving, and dying are easy.
cannibal chowder and a kiss by the splashing voices of a pool
I wound through the Gothic castle buildings in the university.
She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.
He got people on the conveyor belt that carried them up to heaven.
Walking through the snow with her was enough, quiet enough.
The sun falls back and vanishes like the men in my family who’ve died.
You put his hand around your throat but he keeps moving it away.
He was living like a coyote, out on the margins. But then a letter came.
Like a god I shook their tiny worlds, terrible but ineffectual storms.
Gravity bends together this planet and your life, made of glass.
The band was amateur at best. It didn’t matter. People loved them.
My ups and downs never stop on the hump we call a hill behind the house.
Each drifting snowflake falls nowhere but here and now
The willows crack as the startled deer flee into a deeper darkness.
The owl was a white that could not be compromised by any other color.
In the reign of the cold, in the name of the sorrow, in the flame of the hark.
Through all this the sands kept vigil, harboring blood and bones.
No one perhaps has ever felt passionately towards a pencil.
Pulling the bird from his throat, how it’ll smell of bloodied oat.
