"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

i did it my way


my portuguese housecleaner  shrugs each week

+with eyes existential  she says:  it’s a life   vasco

+unafraid  she stands at the precipice of yet another

expedition into the BIG unclean


hermione lee   virginia wolf’s biographer  makes a

similar observation  how to distill a life?  how to begin?

was virginia  just  an insane incest survivor  who would

suicide at 59?


hermione  an oxford don  +maria   have much in common


pragmatically speaking   a life is a face   virginia’s:  cartoonishly

long    deep hooded eyes   reeking of skinless vulnerability

with loads of black humour about the lips


a face made for walking into   a river


My brother’s face   all square jawed symmetry   darkeyes

steely with war  defends against love  against father’s excision

pre-birth  +without anesthetic   can u see the cancer?    no

but yes  to bravado   yes  to chain-smoking cigarras


and yes  prick him +he bleeds   profusely


square jaw  belies the fester of a wounded dear   it’s a life

no river   no stones in pockets   a different pyre   days of:

bentley  camel-coated   with a small island in the caribbean

named for him    prodigál       these days long over


his sperm donor  riddled with the cancer  too


the streets he walked  now covered in a fine white dust  with blue

bonemeal  gritty on the skin  in the wind  where without caution i

scattered him   previously with stealth+creeping  i visited a mound

at a school


and dug






Fall  2019

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