Poetry
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Hatred of the Various Grays
I am grunting along the 60, returning
from Calvary Mortuary in East LA
where I walked into the wrong
services. My good friend’s mom
suddenly gone and me wandering halls
looking for the moon: Luna, …
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I am holding a dying dog
because no one else will. His eyes
are white and cracked like the moon,
little crescents. And when I set
him down, he runs, not knowing
where he’s going. … -
Seaside
Last night I read Lorca in the bathtub
Three candles and an incense lit
My cigarette blending with steam and bubbles
Lavender and Epsom sinking to the bottom
The eucalyptus … -
French Roast, La Silencia Resistencia in California
My cup of coffee has gone
stale in the late afternoon and it hits
me as the cloudy stuffiness of suburbia creeps
through the kitchen screen door:
assault is … -
From Claire de Lune
Part One
1.
I am your moon.
You are my light.2.
Little moon girl, sitting in the pool
O ball, in and out of the waterO kindness, o gentleness
crow, no raven, sitting … -
What They Said
“What are you reading?” she asked,
from behind an orange mask.
In the past, I would have smiled,
responded cordially about this book,
only this pandemic has changed me.
My intolerance has grown, like
an overdue …
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Large Print Poetry
You direct my eyes
to the yellow door of the bookshop.Help me when I ask. Don’t just pull me …
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The Palls
after Tommye Blount’s ‘The Suit’
Rookie, this shift blows–still, wear your tie, though
in time you’ll goddamn the Southside. Lord knowsI’ve spilled …
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Ritual
Six girls in as many months. Talk of Ouija boards, a ghost hand lifting them in turn to rope. How else could they read the air and think …