Tuesday, January 29, 2008
BASTARD PRAYER
I once took a rubbing from the mahogany baseboard
of the bed where my grandfather first knocked up
my grandmother, the carved vines and flowers
and cornucopia looking mutely on, the leaves of Autumn falling far from their cleared five acres of Maryland farm land. All they had was the bargain between them.
Outside, the ridged breathing of corn, the sibilant wheat hung on the wind.
I will never know how to grow anything.
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CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
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BACK IN BROOKLYN… The latticed chain-link casts its’ shadow and the gods skip a shallow grave. Zeus ran a moving business on 4th ave, but ...