My mother stands at the screen door, laughing. …
William Matthews
Baudelaire: "The dead, the poor dead, have their bad hours." …
the only parts of the body the same …
Be perpendicular to the basket, …
Each of them must have terrified …
The Rev. Royal Filkin preaches …
First there were those who died …
The ones his age who shook my hand …
I was miserable, of course, for I was seventeen, …
You could say, I suppose, that he ate his way out, …
There’s a crack in this glass so fine we can’t see it, …
Haze. Three student violists boarding …
The wallful of quoted passages from his work, …
The ruth of soups and balm of sauces …
How easily happiness begins by …
Amidst the too much that we buy and throw …
I wondered if the others felt …
A snake is the love of a thumb …
No day is right for the apocalypse, …
Rather than hold his hands properly …
Because we rage inside …