Category: Poems

As of October 2011, I’d posted over three hundred poems on this site, including many sonnets and search poems, as well as numerous poems that didn’t make it into chapbooks such as Abendland and Morgenland. I then ceased posting poems here, choosing instead to distribute them via my poem of the week newsletter. Then I stopped doing that too. Every now and then I post a poem here … but not as often as I’d like.

  • The year 1905 began on a Sunday. If you had been born In Korea you would already have been one year old then. Instead you chose Australia as your entry point into life, Just weeks before the founding of Sinn Fein in Ireland – Surely these things are connected. This is your century: The following…

  • I’ve just had two poems published on a US-based blog called PFS Post. They’re called “Dying On The Vine(s)” and “Eight Miles High”. You can view em here. I’ve also got two poems, entitled “Avalon V” and “Inna” in the forthcoming Future Welcome: Moosehead Anthology X, edited by Todd Swift and published by DC Books…

  • This poem was written in 2005 as part of a dialogue series with Japanese poet Hiroshi Sasaki (Keiji Minato, translator). It was later published in my collection We Will Disappear. Läs på svenska.

  • Q, you built a city inside my heart and now I’m trying to make it back. Do you remember what it looks like? What we did there? Where is it now? In this city there’s a lake that’s filled with fish & fountains powered by Your laughing soul – we’re creating plans, our soundtrack experiments;…

  • Abendland

    in abendland our eyes only reflect the windows of real estate agencies couples roam there; small dogs shit wherever they like; everyone has a slightly bulging belly in abendland & guitar music is de rigeur; words like de rigeur are never used; rivers flow & wood are pictures hung up in galleries frequented on sundays…

  • i hear lady vader’s footsteps clang on the stainless steel gangway; i look busy attending to my knobs & flashing buttons but the dark side is so strong in this one that i am forced to switch on an emergency power generator – red lights bleed across my console & i swivel in my chrome-plated…

  • took a photograph of sunday night then blew it all onto a wall in paint something stirs in the brittle light – almost like your first vacation’s abrupt denoument; studio sounds erupt into white (the power’s down) this wasn’t scripted neither were your forearms’ shudders – closing in on abstract stalks that make a silhouette…

  • Sleeping through the pouring rain Filling up the lakes and rivers she Came to my dark dream bed & Read me stories from a strange Book (turned the pages like a Grave & held me close under the Nightlights smoking marijuana in My mind†- trucks speed onto Autobahns while phone booths Hold the sodden homeless…

  • a silent cartoon wanders the non-descript chaussee over bridges it casts its chisel comic-book shadows illuminated by a passing policeman’s truncheon light as air; that withered stare turns flowerboxes to stones or the dogs to barking fruit stalls there in the internet cafe glare baudelaire calls burundi for twelve cents – resenting the booth’s semi-…

  • harrison ford had it made in indiana jones part three fucking that austrian woman in venice – ah venice – as they slipped under that radar beneath all the clanging sunday bells of canareggio … meanwhile sean connery (presumably touched himself or his manufactured wig knowing that once they reached the castle of the gestapo…

  • What’s the story, Ludwig? Have you found a perfect View? What did you have For supper last night? & did The swans tow your body to Sleep? What did you find in The gothic skylines above Your wooden wagerian bed? Could you go once fantasy Faded? Did you hear music In the reconstructions of Tristan…

  • round & round the imbiss i go scurrying hither or screaming thither wound on sugars & holiday gases with my turtle backpack & my plucky green hat they cannot catch me! cannot know my moves the yodels that maintain me i delight in my terror & underneath this shirt flabby muscles quiver (my brain goes…

  • you can see my moving parts by lifting aside this curtain here where flesh is fused with my mechanical arts & all is encased in polished enjambe- ment … tiny wheels enforce this rhythm trigger reaction maintain flow – while clock- works monitor internal pressure & signal the hours like early birds – i sing…

  • Dachau

    there was no need to be told of the jewish custom whereby rocks are placed near graves instead of flowers (eg lilies in the place of the barracks we found an ocean of stones – larger than a fist smaller than a child’s head just big enough to force one to walk more slowly than…

  • Do not throw anything yet, Albrecht; It is dangerous as well to lean out! Customs examination of luggage: Important notice. In winter, steam Macht (Thomas Mann) mobil. Also … Kinder unter 15 fahren gratis. You Have no claims on the blue-green River waters flowing backwards to Trento. This is our Tiepolo. See Gerhard Richter (19-3…