1. You lay in the nest of your real death, Beyond the print of my nervous fingers Where they touched your moving head; Your old skin puckering, your lungs’ breath…

In the thin classroom, where your face was noble and your words were all things, I find this boily creature in your place; find you disarranged, squatting on the window…

Slim inquirer, while the old fathers sleep you are reworking their soil, you have a grocery store there down under the earth and it is well stocked with broken wine…

Mother, strange goddess face above my milk home, that delicate asylum, I ate you up. All my need took you down like a meal. What you gave I remember in…

1. Old Man Old man, it’s four flights up and for what? Your room is hardly bigger than your bed. Puffing as you climb, you are a brown woodcut stooped…

They work with herbs and penicillin They work with gentleness and the scalpel. They dig out the cancer, close an incision and say a prayer to the poverty of the…

Who is he? A railroad track toward hell? Breaking like a stick of furniture? The hope that suddenly overflows the cesspool? The love that goes down the drain like spit?…

A young man is afraid of his demon and puts his hand over the demon’s mouth sometimes…– D. H. Lawrence I mentioned my demon to a friend and the friend…

We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind, over a terrible hardness. Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer in twenty weeks or twenty days I cross toward him…

My doctor, the comedian I called you every time and made you laugh yourself when I wrote this silly rhyme… Each time I give lectures or gather in the grants…