In my early twenties, I put an ad in the Village Voice that said simply, “Bucky Beaver Productions: We videotape anything! Call for details and rates.” The name comes from my mom. She calls all loved children, including mine, Bucky Beaver, but I think it started with me. I was the original BB.
from Portraits and Conversations
She was still beautiful. It wasn’t some phase or some hand me down, it was a decision and if you disagreed with that or any other decision they made, possibly one with greater ramifications, though she tended to think that one’s taste in furnishings and silverware was a pretty big deal, then that was it.
Horse Herb
Horse herb legs around
and a fungus
rots the remains of elm root
This Will Darken the Cabin
Halfway through my plate of tiger prawns
Robert Redford returns from the cockpit tour.
Such a face he says. Were you this soulful as a child?
Love, Yr Exiled Son
Dear Mom,
Where I am the sky
is not. Away
Grown-Up with Dog
I have been dog-loving my whole life. I was born with an innate urge to hug dogs the way some people hug trees or piles of money.
Ziti Motlog
This story takes place in a garden. I have great affection for gardens, and this one was no exception. It was more of a backyard than a garden, but it had a number of mature crab apple trees flaunting vivid pink blossoms. Beneath the back porch light, daffodils were rioting; my hostess’s young guests were beautiful and eager to get drunk.
The Song of America
I’m raising my child to become the end of rotting,
and to expose the lushness of the cemetery moth.
I’m raising my child to know the difference between the two sunsets:
Two Poems
To pimp the fine young cadence
of the dying gasp’s demented urge
to sentence
The Mauvais Gondolier
As we sat in Central Park
you turned my head to see
what I’d already heard.
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- …
- 18
- Next Page »