Things forbidden to say 

          Thirst in a glazier’s dream

          waters to pluck a cold eye

          and smack with fat red lips. 

          But it’s too warm for love

          under heavy wool covers

          where sleep jams the joints  

          the dog wants breakfast. 

          There, from a counter window

          the image looks through

          the outside deck of the glass 

          grains rasped powder white

          in never-written night script

          that melts in its own grasp



        It’s men, casing

        the green day fog

        inside a rusty screen

        that jumps like a brake 

        tricks of the trade

        the secret maiden flight

        follows closeting

        this young redneck 

        who drops like perfume

        heavy with boy dare

        into the pea green 

        below slaves’ scythes

        capped by a plume

        hell’s sallow smoke 


            Elegy for Minerva 

            Filaments in cellulose form

            strewn as she wakes

            to a razor strike that

            fells in the arms

                  of her own child

            over dry dark tar 

                  has he passed

            once this lintel of red

            so his angel might,

            only, deep in the bowels?


               Canis major 

              dying dog’s paw

              mounds cupping



              in the card catalog

              of things

              come undone 

              in time

              no one says

              dying this way

              is death

              as such 

              pave stones

              do walk

              in the night


          The Ambiguity of Snow 

          Dog wishes, buried

          in squinty sun

          may never sprout 

          deeper dreads down

          under may deface

          even terror’s stun gun

          before bright dawn 

          pours on white cloth

          buffered over white

          strain and shows no

          blood on the collar— 

          but the dead ground,

          bone’s crypt, dazzles,

          unwinds a drape to hide

          a corpse stuffed in.

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