Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Curtal Sonnet

My eyes closed and my shoulder hunched
like bejeweled solitude,
a pen run out of ink and the cold slip of a missed-placed s,
hard as lust, a violin tremolo,
a clicking wound round my ear the massive growl
tight against my jaw--how the undead
measure God stackable as glass
how room for both whisper and hiss
a clicking, wound--this terrible lust
to know what it is to crave, to roam

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