Neither on horseback nor seated,
But like himself, squarely on two feet,
The poet of death and lilacs

These are the houses of the poor—
Strange animals ... they live in view...
That woman on the second floor,

That I should originate anything
was intolerable to me,
but I considered it, privately.

The man I loved wanted me in his bed, so I could tell him he was exceptional.

Ruining something felt like a reason to proceed.

New Hampshire: the sound
of fast water in cascades,
a miniscule toad

      It is not consumption of meat,
the great food-chain waste, that makes one ugly.
      Watching apes pelt enemies with dung

My family stands
at its end, stops
storm-thrashed

A tiny blemish where the sun-
glasses touch his cheek. It will fade.
From the corner of each eye, uneven notches