Babies from the Dry Counties became a fated élite. From the creamiest of breasts to organic kale pudding and Montessori kindergarten.

We were trying to figure out what a deer's home is called. A thicket? A glen?

I.

When I was a kid I believed
in good old-fashioned animistic
souls coming out of the grass
and the sky and the rocks. 

I loved walking
in Las Rocas de Santo Domingo
and seeing

The trouble with paddling is your arms get tired. I tell this to the girls but they don’t listen.

With my inheritance I buy duck prosciutto and rent vacation homes on beaches and mountains.

Why are your TEETH YELLOW?

Between The Social Network and The Imitation Game, we can decipher precisely how our genitals should disrobe us. I, for one, will be relieved to wave them uploaded straight under Darwin’s

I learned about food chains today...

I Have

I have a
wet mouth
in this pink
apartment.

I still have that.

Boy—
you think we’re in love?

Don’t you
roughhouse
with me.

You’re trying.
But at this

I was talking about my obsession with the writing of Milan Kundera...

15 October

The daytime moon is halved in a bright blue sky and a confusion of birds flows together and apart again over the English/Philosophy building, evading a hawk—this is the feast day of

Ask her to aim her index fingers.
at you. Aim yours.

i.

When the moon card is reversed in the tarot, it means you'll be waiting for a long time to clarify the question you need to ask.

Your question will form like a hydrangea blossom and

I only look you in the eyes if I’m sure the condom’s on.

Call brother Henry in Louisville. Tell him to call baby sister Clementine in Augusta.

Standing in the pieces of a broken guitar
I screamed at the summer for sleeping around
breaking my heart with the rising
in those days I drank wine from the bottle
stranded

Present the conflict or the mother as the conflict or the mother as the object of conflict during childhood.

I remember
the first time

I saw a foreign
cherry. I blushed

a little armpit.
I saw how a cherry,

in it's candied boredom,
could stain.

The other not truth.
Thus

Once, all foxes were silver.

Nest #1

Of fine black roots
and the space between two classes
of water chutes.

Of crevices
in the folds of the native maize
sowed for kisses.

Of a blue haze
to guide

In elementary school, when kids talked about being “Christian,” I thought they were talking about race. 

Selected comics from "Groceries": Lovecraft, Freud, & Gilgamesh

I had the milk from a dandelion all over my hands once in the sun and in the cracks of my palms and it was getting on my lunch, I kept thinking.

Once my mother painted my fingernails

feeling in pain
both emotional and physical
I head into the light.

In the park
wholesome children play
their healthiness
throwing
last night's
relative sordidness
into sharp

There was something so sublimely satisfying about reading Laird Hunt’s Neverhome this year that I’ve read it, here and there, probably twice, maybe three times more since. The novel introduces us

1.   It was always ice. Ice: a word like a shard of glass shived in his ribs. The dark plain he was bound to travel. His paramour, his nightmare, his lost thumb. His vice.