My name is Shang – or Winter.
So this is peace.
You think, and magically . . . a strawberry appears!
Various Readings of an Illegible Postcard
Horny or Harm seems the ordinary home.
Or Having seen the orchard and hives,
I’m satisfied I’ve picked the dark pocket
Related
Dear Father I erred
I left my body to look for you
(its image nestles in the center of a wide valley
in perfect isolation wild as Eden)
The Limit
You see, even suffering decays, what is left
is the dust.
The limit is my breathing body.
The Letter
Red, burgundy, blue,
this is my roof, I belong here.
Bread crumbs, jugs, paper and
the wind lifting all of this to the sea.
I’m Not Carlos
There is a whole forest of tree machines in central Maine that have been programmed to turn on me. I’m certain of it. When I am absolutely silent, I can hear them plotting. It sounds like a gentle wind.
Spica
Habitat of obdurate melancholy,
the center lands of
minute consequence, rank
The Box
What did you learn from the dead?
To turn cold in stages to stage
bleed an invisible instant goddamn
Letter From Prison #2
us with no light
the dog edging its nose
out the window and snapping the air
Prisoner’s Wreath #2
This charcoal way surrounds my spot in dust
Dusty property the grit of the word
Word it so the song persists in a trust