They shouldn't have cared, because in Coca-Cola blind we have the unmistakable red of songs for someone that lovers can thin-slice while in the flesh. — Erasure poem from Malcom...
Ladder Trucks on 42nd
Every ladder in New York infects my street. Their hoses slop, fat white snakes on dusted concrete and spraying water shimmers back the Morse of rooftop lights. On the stairs I meet a fireman, and his...
our bed
First it was a knee.
Then wayward arm with sweaty fingers.
And hours later wanting sprawl you push; urge
Me off our bed – my body an unwanted barrel
over a waterfall’s edge.
The Divide
Rubber boots edge virgin snow, and your slender bodies take on the sprinter’s form. All rush after snowplows pass, to break their line and challenge nervous discipline with flying powder and...