Poems in Tarot #7

i. They were talking loudlyabout the faceless ones,about the sexless creaturesof Miramar. ii. There should

They stayed up late, cataloguing moths. Puriri: ghost moth.Emperor, Brown Plume. Things they thought about

Mother, together we fed the caterpillars plumplittle fuzzy bodies ballooningtheir black swivel-heads heedlessly munchingalong stinging

It’s all gone now; all over.Your brothers unhinging thedifferential from underneatha Zephyr Mark IV. Oil

After Pablo Neruda’s The Poet’s Obligation To whomever has a shuttered heartI recommend: Plucking the

the summer moon this morningisn’t plath’s mother. she is instead misshapen in the west,a phosphate

My father taught me to peel an orange today.He has taught me many times,But I

There’s an unexplainable warmthof the moonof the bottom of the lake Where we hang elegies

when we were children, we squeezed into a single bedmy head on the pillow and

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