Where did these bricks come from – perhaps they were trees and olive branch burned in a santuary window. As though to throw off the jack-in-the-box image, the mouth of an auditorium the Keynote is the inversion of a ghost – what do they aspire to? A tree, a lime – burning with seeds –… Read More I am not this tree.
How large must the statue be when buildings are buried like small ships once floating in a sea of sand, flesh-turned -clay figurines walking under the dome that is brushed with sand and wind and grass that touches two amputated legs. * Inspired by “Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
1. A house was parked floating on a vineyard where scarecrows frowned upon a funeral. The mother said, “And this is where you were made –” pointing to the area between her legs. 2. That winter, corn stalks and cactus leaves coexisted. The child pictured a machine fueled by wax and steel, by jars of… Read More Corn Field
I think of him every year on my birthday – He died of a stomach ache – I remember how I wrote poems and plastered them on the walls as though they might accumulate into a thirteen-year-old boy. I imagine how his eyes would be replaced with small worlds, his hands holding desert sand and… Read More The Day I Left Candles At His Grave Sight
Corpses are simpler to identify in the spring. As horses as glass, with broken knees fractures of teeth what little ivy they have eaten that remains in their digestion in the grass in the weeds of the mirrors of horses of confetti of coffins.