The Hollow Breviaries

The hollow breviaries inflate & deflate, like lungs. A lesion in the trees provides what music the poor can afford. Because this is a poem about the poor, what the poor can do for us. They can live in iron houses. They can thread the eye of the sun.



Lessons for Children

The eclipse’s error: silence, horses. I shattered the glass bell of history & with the shards carved a new face. You wouldn’t believe what medals the state tossed at the eclipse. It caught none but lurched slowly into the storm’s ripe grasp. Then we drank to our host, & to his beard. He is like the tzar, meaningless, made of music. He has scattered his apples across the soldiers’ table, he has known his blind bride.



Flesh In All Thy Gates
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