love, noun

love, noun:

actually the opposite

of what you thought —

not the rush of blood

to your head, to your heart.

not a verb, or at least

not a human one,

but the resilient, inexplicable


not the resolution,

not the sex,

but the terrible, shuddering


before, and after, and the rest

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I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d

a better question

In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?


I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa

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