The Solitary's Wine The unexampled ogle of a whore glinting toward you like the silver ray the wavering moon releases on the lake when she would bathe her listless beauty there; the final bag of...pour out hope and youth and life-- and pride, the beggars' treasure! give us pride that makes us winners---we shall be as gods! from Les Fleurs Du Mal , Baudelaire transl. by Richard Howard.

I think at some point this will be narrative, told by the he, but I have researchin' to do. #72.2/30, 4/2/09 In answer to the question what happens when one of those needs a bulb change? He laughs...and don’t go light on the greens, either. At home, He can do almost anything he wants but we never let him put the angel on   top of the Christmas tree.

I always imagined a poet's life would be like this--juicy with fruit and staying up until the morning. Turns out Edna wasn't really wrong. Also, I can't hear this or several poems without hearing them...lines to speak with her after the show and realize even more than her face so wide is the miracle of smile plucked from an unseen somewhere that must be green and lush and without shadow.

Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina by Jack Gilbert There was no water at my grandfather's when I was a kid and would go for it with two zinc buckets. Down the path, past the cow by... but from the outside. I keep trying to feel who I was, and cannot. Hear clearly the sound the bucket made hitting the sides of the stone well going down, but never the sound of me.

no. 5 you can take the gun out of the soldier's hand it's harder to take the soldier out of the man so when the sun rose this morning burnt sienna middle east africa oakland st. louis rio gaza mexico...toe and rubber sneaker brick and mortar cement, asphalt, and concrete surfaces harder than their lives and little pieces of broken plastic tiny as kid cathedral glass clung to the tread in their soles