Poetry

Arcadia Your body is like a brownish sheet of paper may I crumple it? may my fingers write on it? I snuggle up to a sheet of paper kissing you, though I desire to hate I’d like your body to be a hotel I could spend a week there a five-star hotel in the city […]

negative and positive negative, you’re always negative angry grunts from every which way but dip me in the lord’s developer and my true form will become apparent   nida. sun the afternoon sun against my face the north wind against my back the sun checks my moles the wind checks my spine   nida. can(nots)

Exercising the Heart Every morning, I tread the elliptical trainer: a little bit of geometry, a little bit of the laws of literature, and of course, gravitation, ontology, everything I see, everything I feel, affects me while I tread the elliptical trainer there, far off on the hill, stands the Missionary Monastery and the Church

passing by and he swallowed a nail and they nailed silence to his stomach he could puke on demand this was his sole distinguishing mark which betrayed to us the clay he was made of he was later nailed for a second and third year to that same place to that same grade after the

In the Petal Skirt-folds all the darkness of this world is steeping within the skirt-folds of petals Escherichia coli Fusobacterium nucleatum Mycobacterium avium paratuberculosis billions of bacteria live inside us it takes one, under certain circumstances at a certain time, and we are killed by an invisible odorless unportended organism my husband says he believes

*** I don’t recall without a doubt, Perhaps a woman’s words: don’t cry. That’s all. Candles snuffed out. Arnas, you can open your eyes. But I’m running with my eyes closed. I’m late, and can’t remember to where. And the snow – the snow falls composed In A minor shifting to C major with flair.

*** you can call it the sea because emptiness is frightening it’s black and deadly you can’t encompass or imagine it you can’t let it in the predatory bones of a whale stick out from the sand of the shore the scattered sand of an hourglass where time does not belong to us   ***

Baby My baby’s down with a stuffy nose, sleepless for the second night in a row. I’ve heard that stifled thoughts can clog the sinuses, the body conjures a disease, the immune response, and the cure – if you will it and believe it, program yourself and meditate – and you’ll be right as rain,

Debrecen Street Blues Epigraph: “They’re all already dead” – Cesar Vallejo           – Vytautas Stankus   I and what about alcoholic pranas from the second floor who spent his last days drinking pure spirits from a jar throwing up blood turning yellow he was a good person just really angry and

*** I’ll never have the home I want impossible – my home is books and pictures on the walls and windows opening onto a silent linden-shaded lawn others have such homes on the other side of reality I have forbidden myself from having such a simple home because I know if I were to fall