DOOR

When you left
it was as if
one wall of the house
was taken down

I walked out
through that large door
into the carnival
world

SWIMMING TOWARD THE MARGIN

                                        You                                 cast me off
                    but I come swimming back
               towards you
                    Not knowing if
          the beads I’m throwing off
                 Are sea spray
or sweat

PLAY IN 5 ACTS

I

I think about him.

2

He compliments my dress.

3

A centimeter (or less) of his skin touches a centimeter (or less) of my skin.

4

I leave.

5

I find I have taken something of his with me. Then I find he has left something of his among my things.

             FRIDA KAHLO 50 YEARS GONE TODAY TONIGHT TOMORROW


 BRAVE EYES                        MESTIZA
   PAINTING                        JUXTAPOSITA                        MAKER
WHAT’S THERE                   DIVIDITZA     FRIDA                OF
           &                                                      DON’T LET         BRILLIANT
  NOT THERE                                           NICKOLAS      PAIN MAPS
                                                         PLUCK
        FRIDA YOUR BROWS                 THOSE BROWS
        FRIDA YOUR HAIR                                                     
        YOUR UPPER LIP FRIDA                                                    fly little bird
        FRIDA YOUR CLOTHES                             THANK YOU
        YOUR RINGS FRIDA        YOU STRODE          FOR BUILDING
        YOUR EARRINGS         FROM YOUR NIGHT         A HISTORY
        YOUR NECKLACES         INTO OUR DAY            FOR US
                                         DRAGGING YOUR PAINTING
                                          TOWARD THE BEGINNING
                                                      OF PAINTING

             NO LESS THAN NELSON
                       HERO                                   DETROIT               NEAT GIRL
                    CONTRA                                TEHUANA                  WITH ROOTS
              BONAPARTE POLIO                    EGYPT                      WHO IS
              BONAPARTE BROKEN SPINE     ROME            THAT BALLOON ON A STRING
              BONAPARTE MARRIAGE                                  YOU CLING
              BONAPARTE MISCARRIAGE         WHOSE                 TO
              BONAPARTE AMPUTATION        EYES ARE
              BONAPARTE DEATH            LASHED BRUSHES:
                                                            FOUNDATION STONES
                                                                                 HAULED
     WHAT DID YOU DO                                                         FROM
                                                 CRIMS..                         ONE PAINTING
       WITH TROTSKY                                                               TO THE NEXT
                                             EMERA..              SWEET                            
          NAUGHTY                                      HANDS             
                              proof                       THAT
            GIRL       that                        ARE
                           beauty                  FRIDA’S
              ?           & brokenness
                            corruption & vitality                                YOUR BEST PIGMENT BLOOD
                                side-by-side                                          YOUR NEAT PALETTE HEART
     WHAT DID            thrive
                                               
   NOGUCHI                                                            
                                                 
         WITH YOU                          

                 ?

                                       & MANY MORE TO COME

SURREALIST MEN

                     took shortcuts

            to art

     through women's bodies

  not stopping

to cull

    human fruit

               or cradle

  or tend to it.

POLITE INTEREST

I saw in the Providence Phoenix that Henry Gould & I were reading in Tazza last Tuesday.
Wonder how it went.

FEAR

I’m not sure what is my country. I not sure what is my book. If book print-on-demand where
publisher? Met on web. Have passport though. Lost property. Claim me. What is chapbook if one
poem only? Is festival annual journal or periodical? Will APR slay me/heap contempt?
What say—well you know the way/us poets/how it is/just getting by/then will they sneer?
Ruined chances forever. Help. But what is poems on line and why do I publish books first then
poems? Or anthologize. E-zine publishes poems first: only those not in e-book due next. Am I
Irish poet? Is Australian webzine Australian or web? How to know. Whom to ask. Google? Google?

                 WHEN YOU KISS THE WORLD

in a poem

             you take its long throat

           & fuck

so deep

you come

          out

          laughing

straight up

       into

               the bright face

                      of

                    God

ANYTHING

the poem is an aquarium
              set into the page
                   populated by every glittering fish
                 in my Webster's Dictionary
               still in a box somewhere—or

        Google

                   fast-swimming streaks of purposeful purposelessness

Porpoises
          leaping
                   frolicking like the rubber frisbees they are
                    peeling from the sea-floor
                up the walls of a room
              spun from 5 threads:

                  hectic
                  fervent
                  damask
                  brocade
                  brain

& each time the page turns
                a great fluke
          sucking
       free

of a square-cut engagement ring

                BIG CREATURE
        LITTLE CREATURE

napping
           one
       with limbs
    barely knotted

       the other
           a big loose question-mark
              the shadow of whose answer
           has just reached
       her shores

GAMBLE

In the morning
   I gather my forces &
      put my money on poetry

I go out
   with two cupped hands
      putting my money on poetry

Back home
   huffing through every room
       I put every last cent on poetry

Down the long nights
   I drum my impatient fingers
       putting all my money on poetry

MBTA

You get everything you need on the train.
Tickets are free on the train.
Ticket collectors joke on the train.
People leave newspapers on the train.
You can take your pick of seats on the train.
Your hands are free on the train.
You don’t have to drive on the train.
You don’t have to look out the windows.
You can concentrate on the train.
And move at the same time.
Work is not work on the train.
Work is forward motion on the train.
Work is a miracle on the train.
A free crop. Extra. Bonus. Free ride.
Everything is free on the train.
Even the wet sneeze of an invisible passenger
Which we all catch with an exultant BLESS YOU!

THIS HOUSE

both
host & chalice
nutritious
overrunneth
with
sun

BLOG

What is a blog
but a blah and an og
a robust log
for inside elbows to wrap
pulling strong black bark
into water-logged winter-coat
when you fall in a river
what is a blog but an oh my god
a bleh and a lo and a glob
spun by peeled finger-tip
& swung
over playground mulch
& held
in luminous grey canoes
called eyes

SPRING CLEANING

I'm tired of writing
with pieces of heart pulp
all over my desk

PLANS

The house is gorgeous.
No really.
It’s got good bones
& if I ever get the money
I’ll fix it up
& then I’ll fix up the neighborhood
& then I'll scour misery from every house in this street
& then I’ll break off the cakes of scabs from all the other streets in this flagrant city
& then I’ll hose everything & everyone down
& we’ll be like shrieking boys under Brooklyn hydrants maddened by spray & shine
& then I’ll clean up this whole fucking world
this bleeding mess
& then I’ll enter the Miss World contest
& win.