not all about blood
your body will go away
to be adjusted
you will learn with man
what these pages can manage
in a cool dark place
The pirate walk
Where I grew up
it was how we
named luck.
Another summer storm.
The food was amazing.
But I kept falling asleep
on the way home. I
got an overnight room.
Then shopped several times. Nothing
needed—summer dresses,
blouses and shorts.
In all, six stops before home.
Cheaper to eat organic.
there is nothing left
(also known as Moonlight, published in Fêtes galantes [1867], Paris)
Your soul, a richly expressed, exquisite country.
Clowns in pantomime and folk sing song,
Pluck the lute and dance, all almost
Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.
While singing on the lulling minor
Those in love, the fortunate larks,
Can hardly believe such joy
As their song melds with the moonlight.
Serene, the mad lovely moonlight settling
Blanket that makes the birds dream in the trees,
And cry out ecstatic the water jets
Of the tall slender fountains among the city’s marbles.
Author: Paul Verlaine
Translator: Manny Grimaldi
Yearning to escape from real life or returning to one, regular rules don’t apply.
10am and teary,
a double and a single because it’s 5o clock somewhere and three is the magic number.
My history written in these hallways:
College trips
My 21st birthday
Eyes meeting for the last first time.
I’ve walked these steps for decades
And your ghost still lingers where the corner turns
