Art = Beauty + Shit
I. Art that avoids shit is kitsch, said Kundera. Think proletarian posters, red and black, the size of building […]
Poets Respond
F Is for Fear
And it is raining. Someone left an upright piano
beside a steep road. Its case exposed like a throat.
I-95 Corridor
This is where I was cited
for reckless driving
and my uncle quipped
95 is the route number,
not the speed limit.
After the Death of Cormac McCarthy …
Over there, there is a green thing in the way,
under the silver of the moon that isn’t shining
because it is the daytime, and on its many arms,
there are so many thorns you could call it a coat
I Kept Buying Bottles of Honey
as if the amber-hued stuff could actually deliver
the promises of health and wholeness I read
on each label
Smoke Gets in My Eyes
I got a call this morning from my father
who said the smoke was so thick over home
that it had come in the form of a brown fog
to make your throat burn or what my sister said
smelled like the apocalypse.