Armature

Puppets

The sounds of the birds indistinguishable
from the screech of laundry lines being pulled in
another day spent
in the hour when the feeling piles up

Normandy

In the dark you are
a movement
a moment of my life that drenches
the others after it
the silk that has lived through water

Radio Playing in a Room

Later when we were older
later, you would tell your children
about the year of the guns
about the park that had once been a landfill
about how things came to be made

Minima

Solitude is the fragrance
of the lover’s pillow
after he has left you
in the arms of a nervous morning
where you woke up
twenty years later

Killers

Their hands
clasped,
bleeding,
holding each other’s
the blood mixes
falling into the desert

Part

Disconnected like a shaft of light
I inhabit the room in exile
sifting through papers,
a record of what has been reinvented

Room 101

Yesterday is only the sleep that lingers into day the ruined city in the eye of the hurricane to forget the wish you made last night the tear that blew from who you really are what sense is there in the things that never came to be the refugee replaced with others as surely as the summer disappears passing into the winter of the perspective you will come to adopt before you are finished with his empty words what proves your own slavery the story of how you came to harm, like the fever you had as a child like the movie from 1978 played back in silence the heat of a room, of a summer in the filth of New York City, the woman, the memories haunting your identity the way the dirt evaporates and becomes breathing as though there is anything to protect as though you would be better off your anger like dust to them newspapers gathering in the rack waiting in the box for a confession, a recognition you never received wiping your face on a towel hanging like a lynched memory the piece of the wall you threw away was my dream the impositions of …