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Like Rembrandt, chiaroscuro’s martyr, I’ve gone deep into time’s numbness, The sharpness of my burning rib Protected neither by these watchmen nor By this sentry asleep beneath [...]

I’m in a sunlit spiderweb now— Black-haired, light brown tones— People need light and sky blue air, They need bread and Elbrus’ snow. I can’t sort this out alone, [...]

Listen! If stars come out at night — could it mean someone needs them? Could it mean someone wants them? Could it mean someone calls those drops of spit                                        [...]

When my charitable fellow-writers                were burning my effigy and not poking my guts with their pocket-knives —                     thank God! They wasted on me           their bottle [...]