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Title: Greatest Hits, 1970-2000
Publication Date: 2003
Length: 16 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
WALKING OFF A NIGHT OF DRINKING IN EARLY SPRING
for Joe Nigg
Through the budding elm branches, eyes
of traffic lights blink red to green;
the idled traffic surges forward in the dark—
and we stagger on down the alley, joyful,
voices loud and cloudy in the cold.
Where do these hours come from? Hours
when old wounds flare, and the night
opens, and pain boils up into conversation,
as if talk can heal. The sweating bottle
drifts hand to hand, mouth to mouth—
and stars blink through branching clouds,
the blood groping darkly in our heads;
but the moon’s here, too. A bright clarity
over cars and streetlamps, over houses
and leaving trees: going with us.
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Title: The Heart Inside the Heart
ISBN: 0-933573-19-7
Publication Date: 1999
Length: 32 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
SEDUCTION
The mind has a way
of wandering
most when you least
expect it. There it goes,
off the edge, avoiding this
obvious line your eye
dutifully follows—
to what end? To wherever
past each forest a bridge
reaches, then a wall, walls
and roofs. So before you
know it the mind is
lost in the world, and we
are alone in this dark
room together: nothing
but breathing between us.
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Title: Sweet Nothing Noise
ISBN: 0-933573-15-4
Publication Date: 1991
Length: 32 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
WESTWARD FLIGHT
Aloft over pinestubbled mountains,
threads of road and river-ribbons,
groves like smudges of sexual hair.
The sky is blue as a gas-flame’s heart,
and a cloud shadow floods the battered
land, makes a lake he half wants to enter.
Diving from such a height—how sweet.
The shallowest grave is healingly deep.
Or is death no cure—only a love-wound
endlessly staring in the cold ground?
He shuts his eyes to think I’m here,
still here. Aloft, in light; alive, in fear.
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Title: Wandering Music
Publication Date: 1990
Length: 44 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
WILLOW
When we cut down the willow, I heard
the frail shudder of roots in the ground,
stretching wildly for water, for more life.
In silence I listened, in wonder, filled
with thirst and a burning recognition.
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Title: Thirst
Publication Date: 1984
Length: 16 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
THE CROSSWALK
It’s a lightpole at a city crosswalk. Over the grit, someone has scrawled with a black magic marker: JESUS, SAVE MY SOUL. Traffic like cold wind. You lean into it, the way you lean a while later into the chilly fluorescence at your desk. That beetle glimpsed as it vanished into a sidewalk crack — with a start, you realize it lives there. A tremor takes your hand like cicadas grinding up time in the willows. Weren’t there days when horizons, at dawn or at dusk, shone like a Bible’s gilt edge? Then where did these nights come from? Nights you dream of nothing but the crosswalk down-town: how the signal keeps changing — WALK, DON’T WALK — though no one is there to cross and the street itself is empty.
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Title: Weathers, Vistas, Houses, Dust
Publication Date: 1980
Length: 16 pages
Binding: Saddlestitched
From the book:
HOMING
for my mother
I believe I remember my first
house, deep in your body, alive
with music. White music breaking
ion waves on the cliffs of couches,
foam hands caressing a shore of
blue carpet. Adrift in a boat
made of listening, my sleep
was whole as milk in an udder.
But a doctor divided us, beached
me (deaf) in a body, far inland.
I’ve needed 20 years to relearn
your intricate fugue, to believe
in the ancient turntable wheeling
in its secret room. Mother, your
spirit’s needle quivers in its
spiral groove, like moonlight
threading the troughs of waves.
Yet I know that your bright tide
is a maelstrom too, devouring
your body’s walls. At first, it
frightened me, loud as the angry
knock Beethoven heard. But now,
the longer I listen, I find
the music growing more lovely,
more clear, as it homes on
into its silent center.
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