“Everyone is something,” pronounced Adam, his jaws cracking like a rifle shot. Obedient, I took up his thought. It sounds incredible, but in reality everyone is something. The world into which I was born begins and ends with the fact that everyone is something. It...
Second Language You come with a little Black string tied Around your tongue, Knotted to remind Where you came from And why you left Behind photographs Of people whose Names need no Pronouncing. How Do you say God Now that the night Rises sooner? How Dare you wake to...
The work I did at Civitella was of two kinds, both of which I’d had in mind for a couple of years but hadn’t found a way into as yet: happily, this place gives permission most of all among its many gifts. I made a dozen or so poems in a stripped-down,...
