• Curse Of The 7th Month

    Let the ghosts gnaw on your hearts,
    sour and brittle,
    for giving them this miser's feast:
    cheapest paper coated with... more »

  • Generations

    Trotsky, in a MacDougall St. coffehouse,
    Appears tired, annoyed, gets irritable,
    Leaves his game with old Josef Hurvitz
    After only thirteen moves... more »

  • Listening To Agujetas

    Sing, old man, those true songs of fire,
    Songs that were too old for this air
    Before you yourself were ever born.
    Hammer those words against the night... more »

  • Mr. James Clancy

    When the women come by with their blood smells
    Alive in the chalky morning,
    He is right at their smiles like a tiny, quick bird,
    His black, dotted eyes saying 'mornings' and 'evenings'.... more »

  • The Road

    I walk to the edge of the long road
    Which is swollen, I mean swollen,
    With too many memories.
    I wanted to give most of them away... more »