The border is never real. Imagined, invented, imposed,hardening space at the current confluence of cultures,away from the poles and centers, hinterlands holdingtheir own, identities carved out of contrast, distinct
I tried to read his favoritepoem at my son his funhis fune read at his funeralhe’d you see died there wasa motorcycle a sunny black motorcycleand red the blood his head was
Before the moon, there was Neptune.And before that, one giant sky rock took
a bite from another, spitting in anger—a wet thud went to Earth who, spinning
What does this life requireof me. A constellationof sharp caution empties: emberscrackle in a nearby firepit. Texturedbranches seduce the night, considerthis was all you ever thought
The origin of every book is loss.There is not a word
in the beginningand language always listens
to its end. Tell mewhat has left its mark
upon the names you give to starsyou cannot see
My fav event as harvest season approachesis the rough seed that escaped the plots.
If there’s a cornfield adjacent to another bedof vegetables, you can count on imperfection,
Howl somethingyou want heard,
guaranteedyou’ll be hunted.
Howl somethingsweet and it won’tmatter either.
Someone will starta murder club builtfor your friends,
In the sediment, years of beaten red granite, submissive to currentThe broken headlight lies.(The old woman, down off Highway 164, could tell youIt comes from a 20th-centuryGerman hatchback.
I never knew why you waxed gravestones.I remember you young with pigtails.
Then it started raining in the middle of AugustAnd everything that could scream was steaming.The wax melts, and looks like tears.
Wisconsin Academy Offices
1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53726
James Watrous Gallery
3rd Floor, Overture Center for the Arts
201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25