Poet Tree

On the rolling hills of the la-la lands, you just go in  To Villa dei Papiri , a rising into Elysium, a nest  Befitting Hadrian, painstaking...

The problem with the mind It turns life into failure What you didn't excise. All the heroes are assholes, Every gesture offends Lived li...

Those Mixolydian chords And that 350-pound voice Singing the heart out of an emaciated junkie How I flow with the wave of the arena hive As ...

His first single, at 17, was so advanced, Too sophisticated for even the Doo Wop residue That hung over steak Philly like cheese, The twist ...

The Chinese plan, The long-term transaction, Requires no thought at all, Since it is only an idea But that same idea Sent Eddie Holland, Who...

They were named for a vaudeville show  Because the Buffalo Bisons were already spoken for, But that hardly explains one Elbert D. "Gold...

The agreed-upon illusion frays: The real life beckons beyond the box ... And the voice, as experience turns to knowledge, replies "You ...

There's unrestrained joy in being someone else Though it is more hotel than home, The hermit crab shell from 1750 Embossed with a name t...

               They are for me,   somewhere between       private and secret, Longing to be seen       but for my shame. Scout, scribe, prod...

Matters of Life and Death      are so insignificant Compared to Identity,      the all-seeing,              never-being eye. The watching   ...

Salt life Mist over the stacks Flannel As we turn inward On the quiet streets Save the occasional  Scrape of in-line skates. The patio peopl...

What I know, What I bothered to learn I had to make up. The facts, it turns out, Are never enough  Unless they add up — And there are  Far t...

The song is too familiar by now: Hero denied, on a logical course, turns To hero victorious, if only in pain That we donate towards. The pro...

You can be anything      when you are nothing — Plugging volcanoes up                         is a bore When you only exist                 ...

The Jesus and Elvis syndrome            takes its hearts With arrows dipped in                       acetylene  To inflame the pilgrims     ...

The song bubbles like an egg Its gnosis Many are called but few Are susceptible Fewer still take anything  Tangible from it Some judgement A...

I remember, somehow, the vapours, The smell of hay as strange music played, A peculiar unveiling of notes, As if a sculptor found a head in ...

The quiet has become total            yet the mind keeps       spinning around itself, Reaching for the ghost limbs                         ...

The books are so many sand      Paintings dispersed                By a hand As the Age of Messiahs passes,      The hero in theory         ...

I. They are as gnats, these fantasies, Weaving and circling in implicate paths, Never quite breaking from the real That holds them to float,...