Do you see the world / as anything more than a translucent sheet lifted / by Divine breath?
(Jewish poetry)
Category: Poetry
in the center of my heart they buried a limewood carving of a bird.
(poetry)
“Ghost poems of a haunted landscape, told in almost hypnotic lyricism, somehow bleed seamlessly into haunted writers and artists suffering in landscapes far from the West,” writes Sadie Hoagland.
(poetry reviews)
Sunbeams drop and scatter / like shrapnel across bald pavingstones asizzle / in the dust of your passing.
(poetry)
Every day their breath brushes back and forth / like wind erosion over the etched inscriptions / that say our veterans are our heroes.
(poetry)
Chicago, / I’ll stick around as long as you’ll take me or leave me.
(poetry)
what can somewhere provide beside a concrete babbling brook / with loose boulders.
(poetry)
we gently break their beacons from our ankles / caress the skin where now the signals stop.
(poetry)
It had crushed her trailer / while she watched / Queen for a Day / on a TV crowned with rabbit ears.
(poetry)
Wandering around some post-nuke safari park / With cauliflower growing out of my arm / Like a freak at night
(poetry)
Robber barons are laughing themselves silly as they devour your / neighbors. / Don’t worry. / It’s not you they are after.
(poetry)
little teeth of pinion, / gears of language / spinning in your mouth
(poetry)
How could / the hand’s reflexive twitch undo centuries of survival? / Something as simple as an approaching outlier of thunder / cause devastation to a thing come so far?
(poetry)
On our / walk the hound and I / noted something fecund.
(poetry)
What are the whereabouts of this babble of tongues, / this suicide flight of words, / this hermit-crab that is my story? (poetry)
several layers of antagonism stare at us / amidst a squabbling paradox or cannibalism.
(poetry)
“The great achievement of Cracked Piano is that its poems present psychological pictures of a person in loneliness,” writes reviewer John Zheng. (poetry reviews)
Out west, we get our sunlight second hand, / when the East has settled the business of the day.
(poetry)
The last traces / of what I have lived, / of what I have loved, / are vanishing at the mercy of the wind.
(poetry)
You did not talk politics, except / to tell me we were being watched.
(poetry)
Weird fantastic beings of a / Super-intelligence. Ruling a race of synthetic humans / and pitting them against mankind’s dream.
(poetry)
in soft squares, you try to neglect / your worries and shut down / the war-voices.
(poetry)
Each day the quick kick of the dream / empties another body / and the ghosts move through unkempt streets / named Lincoln and Delaware.
(poetry)
they are the ones not allowed the roles except / maids and gardeners and gangsters and prisoners.
(poetry)
at recess the innocent school / children play and gambol in / pure non-denominational play
(poetry)
from their beacon hands / glow worldwide welcomes and a thousand smiles.
(poetry)
I dreamed the sun, very low, / painting me a mustache of sweat and coal. (poetry)
I wondered aloud / if on those odds days / where I felt like a hunted squid / that what I was actually feeling / was Light Cerulean Blue.
(poetry)
I see that the innocent face / beneath the long-brimmed, straw hat / does not seem to know it is raining.
(poetry)
