Category Poetry

The young man sat with a long neck beer
In a finely carved wooden bench
And looked beside him at the young...

Suppose a world where men inherit mouths
in their thirty-third year.
Maybe they spring up all at once
with hunger and a tongue.

I am aware
Of my audience breathing, smell what
They ate for lunch, know
Whether their deodorant works.

I’ve been too ready to believe in
the inevitability of pain,
mine, also yours, blaming our limits
on a calculus: how one sets...