Eras of Yves Klein
March 14, 2013

The Era of Having Famous Painter ParentsThe Era of Bypassing the Problematics of ArtThe Era of Learning to Write with Left HandThe Era of the Irish JournalThe Era of Doing Rosicrucian Exercises Every Night After Supper and Mailing Them         to Cal

Becoming T. S. Eliot, for Better and for Worse
Eliot's Letters from 1926-1927
March 04, 2013

Now that we know so much about Eliot, are we still so curious about him?

Locust Vision
February 28, 2013

Where the branches of the honey locust thronged through daylight hours                   with wings and voices of bluejays finches cardinals chickadees and  white-throated sparrows making their spring-loaded hunger-sweetened                   pres

Welder's Smoke
February 27, 2013

When the light-stunned doewent stupid, I couldn’t fire,a furtive scruple that meant nothingto the blue light that whooped onbehind us, us with two pistolssliding across the seat. Bobbyslapped the lights o! and gunned it,slamming into the dark.

Poem with the Window Left Open
February 25, 2013

All you have to do is open the windowto let the night in: then mothseffervesce in a streamtowards the lamp, then the cool airthat blows between the blackbird andthe bat, air that blues the whole worldlets itself in, the whole worldstared at so intent

How Baudelaire Revolutionized Modern Literature
Humiliation as a Way of Life
February 21, 2013

Baudelaire thought that everything natural was corrupt. This perverse, humiliating belief changed the face of literature.

As If
February 20, 2013

The massive, grimy river shouldered its waytoward the harbor.

What A Dog Wouldn't Eat
February 15, 2013

You fell into it like someone falling through a doorand found yourself in a cozy nightmare of spotlights,naked onstage in a tiny theater where the audiencewore masks and wasn’t above slapping you around. Your performance was subject to criticism from

Hikmet: Çankiri Prison, 1938
February 03, 2013

                                                                                                                          A VersionToday is Sunday.Today, for the first time, they let me go out into the sun.And I stood there I didn’t move,struck for th

January 30, 2013

The one book where we never lose our place spreads its covers to a gooseflesh Braille. We are bookmarks slipped into each other. In that book, we read each night of a couple who go without touching for hours on end; then, the dishes put away, the toddler powered down and set to charge for tomorrow, they thumb a lock and make a greenhouse where once there was a master bedroom. Orchids push open the drawers.