you know my excesses / delilah / for the bleeding abscesses / of sunsets strung  together  you and I we tasted the soft meat of our virgin hearts / wasted blind drunk in an absinthe state of sex and regret / and I whispered and may even have worshiped you / delilah  I tried to […]

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The birds

I did not think I would reach the age where a decent 12-year-old single malt would be considered a regrettable choice. I thought by now I would be reading Chaucer, maybe listening to an opera or two. My second ex-wife says Pucccini is good, though he’s no Frankie Sinatra. Now I stand before this mess, examining the […]

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Unintentional harm

There was a bruise on her thigh the size of my eager young thumb, the shape and color of a cat’s serving of Neapolitan ice cream. It was not my intention to cause her such a harm, but it was the mark of my drowning eagerness for her, a thoughtless expression of my wretched rawness. […]

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Country music

When in our purest form we sang the songs of rain to a hard blessed sky, and what poured down was our predestined selves compelling us to praise, to drown, or swim, or else. Oh, there were hours of song and of prophesied drink, and the vessels of my heart grew weary of such things. […]

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Soft brick window wells

do they still hold sleepovers behind the textile plant, on those burned-out chesterfields and the la-z-boys with the brown foam spilling out of the arms, and do the bricks still smell like homemade Portuguese wine and wet takeout cartons are the psalms still written on the plywood windows, random angry verbs and treatises on Vietnamese […]

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these there are the scars she said a fleshybrown hook on her belly a rage of adjectives against her skin by hand under shirt under skirt look here where the skin broke at the damages she tolerates for not knowing his rages against the surface part of her, the retractable blade went here, look, touch […]

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The one before last

Your hands are still old frayed cloth, hardly ever warm, unadorned by rings or polish, but scratched up from your cat Saint-Mary whom nobody likes, but you’re too attached to the rough animals that hurt you. I ignore her when I visit you, but still insist on serving the tea. You say, sit down and […]

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1967 lawn chair

My living thoughts of you still follow me through the bramble of crumpled bits of paper where all the words I write to explain you to me falter in mid-stroke. I cannot breathe in the dust of yesterday, where you still live, where I still pay rent. There is a mean toll for crossing that […]

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A place for departing saints

I watched the widowed mother pause on the steps of Matilde of the Sacred Heart, a sight in black and white posed in a black polyester dress, maneuvering cautiously down cracked white concrete, and I studied her   studying my children across the street in the catholic park, riding their bicycles and hiding behind summer […]

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Our usual fable

We wash the bone mud from our torsos, and if there is a word for this, it is sorrow. We see the frustration in the lean faces of our children, the dirt griming their arms, the hollowness griming their bellies. You and I will fumble with  our usual fable: this will pass and it will […]

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