The thrill of Emerald City was its strangeness
And opulence: houses carved from green marble,
Green jewels and street lamps, green inhabitants,
A single color dominating all the eye could see:
This poem comes after Jacques Derrida’s essay L’Animal que donc je suis (Paris: Éditions Galilée, 2006), while “the tracker’s marginalia” is imagined and glossed from The Oxyrhynchus papyri by Bernard Pyne Grenfell & Arthur Surridge Hunt (London Egypt Exploration Society, 1898), a lengthy exegesis of, among other texts, a fragment of Sophocles’s play Ichneutae (The Trackers). Read more →
I kiss my lover the same way I make
a cup of tea: pour water and milk into a saucepan
The ocean has a purpose.
Saying The past is the past is useless. Read more →
Did you believe me like you believe the Discovery
Channel when I said a woman like a seal comes
to ground only
to breed and nurse
like Doris Lessing Read more →
Florida is where we stretch America’s southern hand
into the ocean with no southern accent in our mouths.Read more →
The children are scattered hens
in the November playground,
pecking at the remnants of play.Read more →
Light consumes itself in space and under a bridge, in a howling river,
in a bag, beneath the floorboards, in her apartment, in a field,
on fire, in the trunk of a car, in a dank basement,
We look into a stippled sky where somewhere seven Earth-like planets
spin quiet around a distant dwarf star—
Read more →
I am wilting, wanting, a fly-swatting socialite.
I arrive in time to be in sync with grammar.
I am naked in a dust jacket. I am polite,
Writing an embossed lunch invite to the biosphere.