… The quiet aftermath of disaster dangling in the sunlight in a tall tree only decay to ever come after falling apart vanishing in the breeze where every now and then someone looks up to wonder what it was that … Continue reading

… The quiet aftermath of disaster dangling in the sunlight in a tall tree only decay to ever come after falling apart vanishing in the breeze where every now and then someone looks up to wonder what it was that … Continue reading
… The butterflies of spring are small and dark not colorful and bright like butterflies of summer hovering from flower to flower in beauty’s camouflage. Two butterflies on the asphalt road laid with silver stone though small stand out. Because … Continue reading
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth— Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients … Continue reading
… I write the word: I am behind itYou read the word: you are before it We make a oneness, a reflectiontwo separate moments come together But the word is still between us Some day there’ll be no wordsSome day … Continue reading
… In the early 90s I went to Mexio to work on my novel, What Night Forgets, usually for the month of January. When I was in the city of Oaxaca, I was always looking for books of printed art … Continue reading
… February 17, on a writing assignment for the Bryant Park Poetry Series, I went to the Kinokuniya Bookstore at 1073 Avenue of the Americas to hear Tom Sleigh read from his new book, Station Zed, poems and prose about … Continue reading
… … … If it weren’t for Stephen Spera, I doubt I’d have gotten into Barney. I was very lax, and still am, about getting myself into things. Stephen, on the other hand, was always looking for and aware of … Continue reading
… The style of Little Caesar fits these cartoons by Joe Brainard very well, the everyday printed quality of a newspaper, the comics of Little Nancy and Sluggo, the funnies, only in color on Sunday, but black and white the … Continue reading
… I first held Drunken Bee Poems in my hands in 1987 when Philip Good gave them to me, shortly after he moved to New York to live with Bernadette Mayer and her children a few blocks away on Avenue … Continue reading
… Ah Sunflower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun: Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller’s journey is done. Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: Arise … Continue reading