Co-Winner Academy of American Poets Prize
Published: April 22, 2010
My mother tells me about
walking the same earth as Einstein
as a child, a bashful brunette
with handsome, Catholic parents...
Co-Winner Academy of American Poets Prize
Published: April 22, 2010
I listen to the unwell
wails of geese flying south.
What is the urgency of birds?
A harpsichord of sorts.
A true account...
Co-Winner Academy of American Poets Prize
Published: April 22, 2010
My greatest fear
is that you go to the vending machine
with another woman.
That I pick up my dollar,
and the doves...
Published: March 4, 2010
I think about her poems:
jewels of the eye,
pocket of the womb,
and I stuff my own with lucky things.
I remember about the pelvic nerves,
about the...
Published: November 19, 2009
I see you among the statues
and the train stations in Rutherford.
I see your briefcase, your physician’s hand.
I see the streets you worked on. The...
Published: October 8, 2009
Fifty years after the original exhibition of Swiss-born Robert Frank’s “The Americans,” the Metropolitan Museum of Art elegantly revisits his masterpiece....
(For T.J., 1988-2008)
Published: November 20, 2008
You were
the first to die, to grasp
infinity in its absence,
juicebox still in hand.
You swung away
on Southern...
Published: April 3, 2008
I’ve felt the pulp of your mouth,
its red poppy blooming
when your thin lips offer
the salt-blood of the earth:
the easy, softening tongue
and pearly...
Published: April 3, 2008
She types at her desk
in the dim light,
her spine jutting out
like pearls on a string,
her pale skin stretched like canvas
over her thin frame.
Inside, her body...
Published: April 3, 2008
When I meet the two spikes of your hips,
the strange channel of your throat,
I will write great poems
about your dark, animal sleep,
your body like the...
Published: January 31, 2008
My mother tells me about
walking the same earth as Einstein
as a child, a bashful brunette
with handsome, Catholic parents and
an aluminum tub in the kitchen
for...
Published: January 31, 2008
I have snagged you like a fish,
midstream, wet and wriggling:
your many loves
diffuse over time.
The safe country waits,
songs of locked...
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