I am not mad
he says to everyone in the restaurant
and I take this as coincidence
an utterance of lifelong uncertainty
an inability to arrange or rearrange thoughts
A Song of the Gods of Madness
Genre: Poetry
Virtue of Smallness
Barnacle cone houses
and soft-skinned
bladder wrack bulbs
pinky-width to the big toed
hard-hatted clams
Ways to this man’s heart
Our heavenly house orbits to open,
my love. Can you imagine we are spheres
talking lip to lip, swaddled in afghans
of nebulae, wormholes and star clusters?
Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands Abdicates Her Throne
You bet she does.
She’s nearly 75 years old.
Do you know what her friends have been doing all these years?
The widowed ones take younger lovers.
They are on Facebook. They post memes.
Bullfrog
The Art of Translation
The tears I cry in trying to fit this first key
into the door to a cavern of someone else’s language
are like so many rocks, impeding my path.
I complain about the words, yet add more of them,
babbling at Babel, cursed never to understand this tongue.