The Lepidopterist’s Collection Mine is a flimsy passion. Awe for false eyes. Mothy deceptions. Zigzag symmetry. A simple color-code: I may be toxic. Mounting butterflies is tricky — pinch lacy wings in stainless-steel forceps and relax them. I have a ritual. Listen to string quartets. Block sunlight behind flowered drapes. Square the mounting box. Set […]Read more "The Lepidopterist’s Collection"
Used Mystery Books Titles on the M Shelf at Another Read Through Bookstore This widow is too pretty to die, decorated to death, with a right attitude to rain as tears lost in time. She likes it lethal, begs the sentry to send another hearse for her, an odd job for this night butterfly. She […]Read more "Used Mystery Books Titles on the M Shelf at Another Read Through Bookstore"
White Girls Cede to other women skin tints of caramel, taffy, and fancy maple, heady Jamaican vanilla extract in amber glass. The glow of copper wire. Oxides, raw or burnt sienna. The roughed-up walnut heartwood deepened on roofs of the Lower Ninth Ward. The songs black poets sing. Eyeball my elbows. Cabbage whitenesses, garden spawn. […]Read more "White Girls"
Nuclear Winter My grandmother told stories of smoke and smudge to save her navel orange groves in a Florida freeze. Sometimes her work failed. Then each Christmas she shipped a crate of oranges so thin-skinned they had to arrive fast. Fruit so flame-y orange we fell in love with hand-squeezing, licked juice from our fingers. […]Read more "Nuclear Winter"
Booze Writing She writes the non-fiction marathon, grabs her metaphysical hangover to record the distillers, blogs recipes for old martinis, notes where mezcal comes from. Serious, full-time writing about booze, barstools and body/mind benders. Codifying as a way to stop her bingeing. Is that how it goes with loneliness? Scrawling about virtuous alone as relief […]Read more "Booze Writing"
Simulacrum Forget woolly lambs, tin can stars glued with glitter, German glass globes passed down from grandparents. Deck the halls not with tannenbaum, but fiber-optics & PVC. Cell towers seduce the highway eye with spiked green bottlebrushes and dust wands. Firs in New Jersey, cactus in the desert, Mexican fan palms and long-needle pines. Like […]Read more "Simulacrum"
The Washington Park Rose Garden in November Two leather-gloved armies with loppers swarm over the rose test garden, our heavy boots squish row by row to bring ten thousand bushes to their knees, wind-pruning for winter. Parks’ staff talk of retirements, back injuries and union politics. Volunteers share where-do-you-live, what-do-you-know-about-roses and try for ouchless in […]Read more "The Washington Park Rose Garden in November"
Saloons and Spurs You can’t imagine the dead lined up on wood rail chairs under the overhang of the saloon roof, leaning back on the leftmost porch wall with their boots tilted up. You might recall a scene from old westerns, wagon ruts in the muck, snorts of hung-head horses tied saddled to dirty rails. […]Read more "Saloons and Spurs"
Left with the Care of the Farm The banty rooster’s strident call is light years from grinding war, spinning news, suspicions of sects and warring politicians. His raucous bluster reminds me of a push-button toy gargling squawks only a child enjoys. A hawk whistles across the pasture. The rooster heard it, a wild away. He […]Read more "Left with the Care of the Farm"
Solar Eclipse Glasses My doorbell rings. A delivery man vanishes. He left a bubble-pack of three shades. Red, green, and black: blood, wealth, and darkness. Do not use in daily life when driving or walking. Made in China. Supervise children at all times. Who was it who sees through a glass dimly? Or the actual […]Read more "Solar Eclipse Glasses"