Stopping by the Tattoo Parlor on an August Evening
Whose hands are these I think I know.
In my pants, in the neon glow
of the THRASHER sign above
the toilet, summer is just beginning
to swelter. “No Hands” is …
Whose hands are these I think I know.
In my pants, in the neon glow
of the THRASHER sign above
the toilet, summer is just beginning
to swelter. “No Hands” is …
I know it scares you when I say I’m not afraid to die.
Still, you go on listening,
as birds plummet into the grass—fortune
teller, pharmacist, archangel, swan—
who taught me …
“Sleepless Night #33” is one of a series of visual poems combining pages of a Dutch novella with collage. I wanted the poem found on each page to represent the …
quick recoil as heatwave
tries to coax me
my bedroom, a sun-sluiced
temple
outside, maulvis
and bootleggers
cross paths
crisp, orange sky
waxy dawn
rising behind clouds
sister syncs the color
human body, silver, glass
el Templo de San Francisco, Puebla, Mexico
When Sebastian was told not to give his cloak away—
he was constantly giving away wealth (his last loaf
of bread, …
A miracle, my aunts and mother chorus—
Grandma’s up and about frying fish,
singing old hymns.
The last hurrah, Uncle whispers in my ear.
We’re on the porch looking out at …
the Tappan Zee of my childhood blown up today after
an inclement weather delay—the wingspan of that bridge,
its steel body carrying everyone always over the Hudson
to the Jersey …
My father’s voice
was Utah copper, honeysuckle gold.
Fine-tuned. Viola, not violin.
A radio voice. First pilot calm
air traffic controller
confident. Cargo in the hold.
His local intonations laced with faraway
to wear a man out
a floral top pressed to his skin
by a silken breeze
weather brings them closer:
bees emerge
from the soft petals of his chest
to thread each …