America [Try saying wren]

                  Try saying wren.

It's midnight

in my body, 4 a.m. in my body, breading and olives and
cherries. Wait, it's all rotten. How am I ever. Oh notebook.
A clown explains the war. What start or color or kind of
grace. I have to teach. I have to run, eat less junk. Oh CNN.
What start or color. There's a fist of meat in my solar plexus
and green light in my mouth and little chips of dream flake
off my skin. Try saying wren. Try saying

                          Try anything.

Free Again [excerpt]

            Why don't people 
tell the truth—you scare people—genocide and 
how the rich got rich—even a bus shines 
differently in the light, the glowing 
splinters—why don't people talk more about 
the government and power—how do I know 
the rich can't sleep—promise me the rich can't 

True Faith


Property is death: they had a body crammed in a mailbox and it was just a brown suit with bones sticking out—and fathers lost in blowing snow—and mothers drift in blowing leaves, and all the lies in any town—work was my salvation he said work was always






Joy can



Ice and the river—"the desire to be normal is healthy": no, it isn't—can you imagine the death of the wind—can you remember the ghost of that voice—










Lavender sky, sky like whiskey—the way, the way we live in bodies—lavender sky, sky like whiskey—and to your scattered bodies go—your dream inside your face, your night inside your morning—I'll try to glint like birds behind the rain—