Small Craft Talk Warning

All poetry is about hope.A scarecrow walks into a bar.An abandoned space station falls to earth.When probing the monster’s brain,you’re probably probing your own.A beautiful woman becomes a ghost.I hope I never miscalculate the dosagethat led to the infarctionof my lab rabbit again.All poetry is a form of hope.Not certain, just actuallike love and otherContinue reading “Small Craft Talk Warning”

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The Creative Drive

The Northeast has lost millions of poems, reducing the canopy. Just a few days ago,high winds knocked a poem onto a power line A recent study found that poems increasedthe sale price of a home by close to $9,000.The years, however, have not been kind to poems. a few blocks from my house.I had notContinue reading “The Creative Drive”

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Poem: How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This

dear reader, with our heels digging into the good mud at a swamp’s edge, you might tell me something about the dandelion & how it is not a flower itself but a plant made up of several small flowers at its crown & lord knows I have been called by what I look like moreContinue reading “Poem: How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This”

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At Harlem Hospital across the street from the Schomburg the only thing to eat is a Big Mac

after Z. S. Still, somehow we are carousel. We spin bodies to the wall and back. We are woman and man and man. We are surgeon and operation. We are everybody we love. We are inside them. We are inside and we are laughing. We are man and we will die too. We know thatContinue reading “At Harlem Hospital across the street from the Schomburg the only thing to eat is a Big Mac”

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Anthropocene Blues

sound de-territorializes weather and my love clings to you sings to you in the “new weathers” within a tragedy of the Anthropocene nothing not held hostage by the hand of Man can we resist? will we fail? to save our world? we dream replicas of ourselves fragile, broken robotic thought-bubbles inside the shadow a loomingContinue reading “Anthropocene Blues”

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Let Them Not Say

Let them not say: we did not see it. We saw. Let them not say: we did not hear it. We heard. Let them not say: they did not taste it. We ate, we trembled. Let them not say: it was not spoken, not written. We spoke, we witnessed with voices and hands. Let themContinue reading “Let Them Not Say”

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Thoughts While Walking

A steel hush freezes the trees. It is my mind stretched to stiff lace, And draped on high wide thoughts. My soul is a large sallow park And people walk on it, as they do on the park before me. They numb my levelness with dumb feet, Yet I cannot even hate them. ~ MaxwellContinue reading “Thoughts While Walking”

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I, Too

I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dare Say to me, “Eat in the kitchen,” Then. Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I amContinue reading “I, Too”

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White Sands

—Walking along a ridge of white sand— it’s cooler below the surface— we stop and, gazing at an expanse of dunes to the west, watch a yellow yolk of sun drop to the mountains— an hour earlier, we rolled down a dune, white sand flecked your eyelids and hair— a claret cup cactus blooms, andContinue reading “White Sands”

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To Live in the Zombie Apocalypse

The moon will shine for God knows how long. As if it still matters. As if someone is trying to recall a dream. Believe the brain is a cage of light & rage. When it shuts off, something else switches on. There’s no better reason than now to lock the doors, the windows. Turn offContinue reading “To Live in the Zombie Apocalypse”

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I Have Not Come Here to Compare Notes But to Sit Together in the Stillness at the Edge of This Wound

Asked if it isn’t weird to be at an awards ceremony with Gregory Peck, Dylan says, “Well, listen, everything’s weird. You tell me something that’s not weird.” He might as well have said “big,” that his songs are a witness to magnitude, that your poems are. And why shouldn’t they be? Look at the epicContinue reading “I Have Not Come Here to Compare Notes But to Sit Together in the Stillness at the Edge of This Wound”

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from “Please Bury Me in This”

Now my neighbor through the wall playing piano, I imagine, with her eyes closed. When she stops playing, she disappears. I am still waiting for the right words to explain myself to you. When there was nothing left to smoke, I drew on my lips with a pen until they were black. Or is thisContinue reading “from “Please Bury Me in This””

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Song of the Open Road, IV

The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to meContinue reading “Song of the Open Road, IV”

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Lacquer Prints [By Messenger]

One night When there was a clear moon, I sat down To write a poem About maple trees. But the dazzle of moonlight In the ink Blinded me, And I could only write What I remembered. Therefore, on the wrapping of my poem I have inscribed your name. ~ Amy Lowell

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Hot Springs

after Robert Francis’s “Silent Poem” rain storm rock pore flow path earth crust thrust fault drip slope trough dam blue ooze tile floor stained glass sitz bath rust stain sun porch deck chair sky light gas lamp foot bridge leaf twitch dirt trail red oak white tail hoof prints moss stump wood thrush chert flakeContinue reading “Hot Springs”

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