COMEDY
MY GRANDFATHER
SMALL SUPPER
THE PORCUPINITY OF THE STARS
ALPHABET
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I carried my TV down the stairs
buried it on a hill
with a beautiful view
by spring a small antenna
sprouted in that place
somewhere under the earth
wispy clouds and the wingbeats of birds
it is dark and soft
the world is a towel
a little priest raises his arms
he will speak with an open mouth
a glimpse of the planet
its fleshy inner core
plush H towel people
we mist the sky with our blue plum lungs
make heaven heron-dark with our breathing
fog the limits with spirit and blue exhalation
in each of us
lungs that are H
for we belong to the air
h
I say
H
because it is a pleasure and a surprise to breathe
I cut off my left, give it to the sea
others give their right
father, sister, mother, shoes
I look out at the ocean
heart, kidneys, lungs, brother
I wait for the consolation of water
under the papers of my desk
I discover
a small stone
yesterday I invented fire
today
I will create
a new tool
I will call it hammer
I pick up the stone
I smash it against my forehead
the clouds part and there is thunder
the trumpets of my ears
signal those to the east of me
those to the west
an army sets out across a blood red sea
a tiny baby is propped
in wet sand between the shores
I will call it baby
a useful tool
neither one thing
nor the other
NAKED STONES THE WHOLE DAY LONG
shaman of the wallpaper
headboard priest in boxers
we wander the glad morning
where the sighing future waits
a sweet flower surrounds us
our fingers the dark plough of anxious hours
sun falls on the melismatic bones of heroes
each cup of clever sky clinging to
the city like a snowflake in the mouth
this is the earth
fences more tolerable than dreams
jockey shorts in the jaws of
each well-formed heart in every pleasant land
dancing on the road I feel
oxen fall from my shoulders
mother, children, father
wading away from night
there’s a seraph on my bosom
fate on apathy’s glimmering brow
lips are blue fire lashes
or idle thought
an hour an eye I love
earth’s contingent language
ancient blue petal
the girl pushed
a long-handled broom
along the floor
Father could hardly bear it
tears streamed from his eyes
silent laughter transformed his face
his body was shaken with
spasms of delight
he was a bird
no bigger than a dust mite
looking for his place
in
