Periodic Table of Ethereal Elements (audio only)
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Carrowmore
All about Carrowmore the lambs Were blotched blue, belonging. They were waiting for carnage or Snuff. This is why they are born To begin with, to end. Ruminants do not frighten At anything--gorge in the soil, butcher Noise, the mere graze of predators. All about Carrowmore The rain quells for three days. I remember how cold I was, the botched Job of traveling. And just so. Wherever I went I came with me. She buried her bone barrette In the ground's woolly shaft. A tear of her hair, an old gift To the burnt other who went First.
1997
A Meadow
What was it I was hungry about. Hunger, it is one Of the several contraptions I can turn on the off-button to at will. Yes, yes, of course it is an “Art.” Of course I will not be here Long, not the way the percentages are going now.
2011
How Can It Be I Am No Longer I
Winter was the ravaging in the scarified
Ghost garden, a freak of letters crossing down a rare
Path bleak with poplars. Only the yew were a crewel
Of kith at the fieldstone wall, annulled
As a dulcimer cinched in a green velvet sack.
To be damaged is to endanger—taut as the stark
1997