WATERMARK

a poet’s notebook

Established 02004

dream

  • Snapshot 17 November 02004

    This new moon nightthe city is too brightfor all but a few stars. On the river path, I finda dead pigeon.  I leave itfor scavengers.  The next morning there is nothingbut feathers and kernelsof corn.  Now the sky hangs low and thick;pinkish with the city’sreflection.  This wind speaks, it tells methere is snowin the mountains… Continue reading

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  • Dream

    I am in some sort of religious community. I am struggling with something that is troubling me. The women ask me, "Have you tried praying?" I confess that I have not. They throw themselves onto the ground, face-down; this is their posture of prayer. I say, "How about if I do it my own way?"… Continue reading

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  • Dream

    exposure to something terrible, toxic the skin hardens, cracks, breaks off in pieces raw, bloody, mucousy intensely painful people hide from each other there is no comfort i write, and write, with a hand that is turning to jelly on some odd substance, like strips of tree-bark not – describing – exactly more – poeming… Continue reading

  • Dreams

    My brother is always dying. My mother walks with me through endless halls in enormous houses. My mouth is full of broken glass. Someone has killed the bird in the book. My teeth fall out in splinters, in shards. Feathers fly up from the page. My brother is still dying. My grand- mother’s house is… Continue reading

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