With cockroaches, disgust does not become revenge. It’s terror hammered like an onion. And when a veteran roach, steeped (like a tea bag) in survival’s dexterity, shapeshifts: from under the sole Continue reading →

  Ithaca–Burlington–Rutland–Great Meadows–Hudson Falls–Albany; home on Amtrak. September 1985; 433 miles. Via Raleigh.     Comment: A return to places I’d been as a young person—Burlington, VT (having ranged first through Continue reading →

Paint over creases in the paper, in the archive, swish that color right into the edges till we shine, you and I, we shine, bodies submerged emerge in the beaten still Continue reading →

                             For Verna and Diana Fontaine That night of apparition        snow became horses      Continue reading →

The sun is an old tire. The sun is a grand piano. The sun is a borrowed mother, a sutured wind, a still spiral air.              Continue reading →