Sunday, April 12, 2009

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Sour Grapes

Succinctly.

One of them poet words.
Sounds queer, I mean
like you was a damn dwarf
plumber sucked down some wife's horny
crawdad hole of a cunt
and just staying there, period.

There oughta be a law
against words like that.

Never could
say it anyway.

(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #2, Winter 2001/02)

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Small Street Song

below me, the
tin-

smith bangs his
hammer, the

old man sells
grapes, sweet

he says, try
some you'll see

sunshine his donkey
sways in

time
you can almost

taste it

(from Sentences, 1976)

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Convergences

dusk ga-
thering
dove

in eaves.

(from The Intricate Evasions of As)


Another Version of Pastoral

The bucolic poet?

He was last seen milking
His latest poem to death.

(from The Intricate Evasions of As)
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