“I’m afraid the poem will never leave me completely.
That this grief must need me, the way the bruise needs
the soft of a body. Why else do I survive
what she couldn’t? Why else am I left behind…”
Read the rest of the poem at Washington Square (scroll down to 2nd poem)
”what table set of your bone
what silver what flesh
dream of your throat
what melting what flavor
cumin currant coconut
your clavicle mantle for my mandible
what wishbone split cracked and tasted
rooms and rooms of your marrow…”
Read the rest of the poem at Washington Square Review.