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“Because who hasn't tried to pull their arms from the sleeves of gravity's lead coat?
Who doesn't have at least one pair of wax wings out in the garage?”
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
Who doesn't have at least one pair of wax wings out in the garage?”
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
“It is ferocious, life, but it must eat . . .”
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
“I believe in the fatal hairdo just for the love of saying fatal hairdo.”
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
― Luck Is Luck: Poems
“Of all the birds, they are the ones
who mind their being armless most:
witness how, when they walk, their heads jerk
back and forth like rifle bolts.
How they heave their shoulders into each stride
as if they hoped that by some chance
new bones there would come popping out
with a boxing glove on the end of each.
Little Elvises, the hairdo slicked
with too much grease, they convene on my lawn
to strategize for their class-action suit.
Flight they would trade in a New York minute
for a black muscle car and a fist on the shift
at any stale green light. But here in my yard
by the Jack-in-the-Box Dumpster
they can only fossick in the grass for remnants
of the world’s stale buns. And this
despite all the crow poems that have been written
because men like to see themselves as crows
(the head-jerk performed in the rearview mirror,
the dark brow commanding the rainy weather).
So I think I know how they must feel:
ripped off, shook down, taken to the cleaners.
What they’d like to do now is smash a phone against a wall.
But they can’t, so each one flies to a bare branch and screams.”
―
who mind their being armless most:
witness how, when they walk, their heads jerk
back and forth like rifle bolts.
How they heave their shoulders into each stride
as if they hoped that by some chance
new bones there would come popping out
with a boxing glove on the end of each.
Little Elvises, the hairdo slicked
with too much grease, they convene on my lawn
to strategize for their class-action suit.
Flight they would trade in a New York minute
for a black muscle car and a fist on the shift
at any stale green light. But here in my yard
by the Jack-in-the-Box Dumpster
they can only fossick in the grass for remnants
of the world’s stale buns. And this
despite all the crow poems that have been written
because men like to see themselves as crows
(the head-jerk performed in the rearview mirror,
the dark brow commanding the rainy weather).
So I think I know how they must feel:
ripped off, shook down, taken to the cleaners.
What they’d like to do now is smash a phone against a wall.
But they can’t, so each one flies to a bare branch and screams.”
―
“Now that we've entered the wave of extinction let's sing while we still can...Quick, climb onto my back and cry wreck it wreck it like a frog in the grip of ecstatic amplexus”
―
―
“For what might happen if we lift
the codicils on belching?
If sex were permitted in the shopping malls? If people
were allowed to sing arias
from Don Giovanni, loudly and out of tune, waiting in line
at Department of Motor Vehicles?”
―
the codicils on belching?
If sex were permitted in the shopping malls? If people
were allowed to sing arias
from Don Giovanni, loudly and out of tune, waiting in line
at Department of Motor Vehicles?”
―
“The zoologists who came from Germany to inseminate the elephant
wore bicycle helmets and protective rubber suits.
So as not to be soiled by effluvium and excrement,
which will alchemize to produce laughter in the human species,
how does that work biochemically is a question
to which I have not found an answer yet.”
― Inseminating the Elephant
wore bicycle helmets and protective rubber suits.
So as not to be soiled by effluvium and excrement,
which will alchemize to produce laughter in the human species,
how does that work biochemically is a question
to which I have not found an answer yet.”
― Inseminating the Elephant
“Sometimes a name seems our most arbitrary possession,
and sometimes it seems like the grain in a rock
like a sculptor's hunk of Italian marble: Whack it
and you might get either your first glimpse of a saint
or a pile of rubble.”
― Inseminating the Elephant
and sometimes it seems like the grain in a rock
like a sculptor's hunk of Italian marble: Whack it
and you might get either your first glimpse of a saint
or a pile of rubble.”
― Inseminating the Elephant
“So much affirmation ends up sounding like a murder of crows passing overhead and it is easy to be afraid of murder-by-crow-- though sometimes you have to start flapping your arms and follow them.”
―
―
“One of these days I'm going to get myself an avatar
so I can ride an Archaeopteryx in cyberspace --
goodbye, the meat cage.
Pray the server doesn't crash, pray
against the curse of carpal tunnel syndrome.”
―
so I can ride an Archaeopteryx in cyberspace --
goodbye, the meat cage.
Pray the server doesn't crash, pray
against the curse of carpal tunnel syndrome.”
―
