Pornography Disclaimer

This is a an imaginary diary of facts, confessions, or messages. This is a notebook of working but broken ideas, lines, images, notes on books I'm reading, writers I admire, and brief fantasies of language. Here unfiltered  all mannerings pseudo-private, publicized, ur-. Here I am art and unrevealed: poetic, political and pop. These are my moonlit rough beginnings and should not be taken literally, directly, truthfully, reliably, and none of it is legally binding. These lies are all choreographed, but only haphazardly. Beware.



Tonight's your birthday. Death, too,

feels like a number. The goat climbing out of his tail

a sign, a feeling that you are nothing, pulse

naked in the constellation, blind as the present zeroing of blackness

weeping like distance. A bit of blackness

shining on a horn. Mood, you are my jewel

part beauty, part scorn. The power's out, so the world

inside is Nagakami and Chekhov by flashlight. A drunken search

up the mountain for the priest, hanging

upside down inside the woods with his sleepless

blade, meditating the bride-riddle:

will you kiss fate, if it's forsaking you? It's hard to find

how far you have come to know

the empty beaches

where you did not know who you are. Attila

Jozsef killed himself at 32, but he poisoned himself with gold. Tonight's

his hunger. Inside my year is

lit by a silence, leaf-beaten by that small tree

eating the body's warm winds. O Heart

your birthday feels like that complete darkness before

language, when we were mothered and sightless and the seas

outside were speaking to the teeming

dark hearse of the blood

asleep--O pulse, while you were threatening me.

1 comment:

Nastasya Fillipovna said...

you thief!

you butcher!

how dare you swindle this feeling from me, you maroon carnivore!

you ripped the flesh as if we were still young. but now, like a master, your incisions are precise.

My photo
I've got one foot in the grave and the other's in my mouth.

Poetry Disclaimer

My work has been awarded the Katherine C. Turner Prize from the Academy of American Poets, a Swarthout Award, and has twice been nominated and shortlisted for the Pushcart Prize. My first book, A Book Called Rats, was selected for the Blue Lynx Prize for Poetry (Eastern Washington University Press 2007). I'm curating editor for the online journal of poetry: PISTOLA and my poems and reviews most recently appear in Massachusetts Review, Beloit, Ploughshares and RAIN TAXI. I currently teach writing and literature at Santa Monica College in southern California.