This is my third poem of week four of the online retreat. 1 Trumpet breasted kings tear flesh Purple mouth beaks taste eye fruit rich dark scarlet. orange coronal. potent. The year, solitary, disconsolate down to the garden well peeling death drips great red burrows 2 A mother kneeling Dark, golden scents open, green grasses [...]
The second poem of the fourth week of the online retreat. This is my room now— my furniture my art on the walls my TV in the corner my rugs on the floor Some reminders remain— the old dining room table the clock on the wall the lamps by the window the world’s ugliest shag [...]
The first poem of the fourth week of the online retreat. It’s always one side— or the other The pull the twist the twinge the strain the sprain the spasm the sharp prick of the universe’s voodoo doll A blade held immobile without provocation or recompense All I did was inhale (26 October 2020) Wishes [...]
This is my fifth poem of week three of the online retreat—only a day late. She is the constellation upon which I fix my gaze I cannot call her a goddess— it’s not fair to impose my awe upon anyone that way But I am swept up by the music and the way she looks [...]
This is my fourth poem of week three of the online retreat. I want only to understand Life is filled with trials and tribulations with ups and downs with triumph and tragedy with happiness and heartbreak with good times and bad times Some of them are beyond imagination What is the purpose? Is there an [...]
This is my third poem of week three of the online retreat. I went off-prompt for this one. There’s a cuticle moon tonight Its amber tinge may or may not be the gauze of my curtains That the waxing gibbous has diminished is not a surprise Most of us don’t go that far back but [...]
The second poem of the third week of the online retreat. The keys are cards, blue and green, with icons in white. I assume the one with the lamp on it controls the lighting. I am incorrect. They are only keys. If this studio were a condo, it’d go for $600k, easy. That’s a bit [...]
The first poem of the third week of the online retreat. A tool question Why don’t they make hex wrenches with screwdriver handles instead of the hard-to-handle L shape? It took me 20 minutes to fasten the first two screws— plus I lost two washers and had to go out to buy more. A memory [...]
I did not do the Sunday meditation prompt last week, but I did do this one, which involved responding in some way to the 11 February 1980 entry from Andy Warhol’s diary. He said she gets sick because she’s always acting happy no matter what. I can’t say I know that feeling, but I do [...]
Better late than never, I suppose. The strangeness of the ritual has only now struck me. What’s left of my father is in this container that’s been on my shelf for the last two years. In a few days, a hole will be dug in the ground; this container holding what’s left of my father [...]
