Japanese Poems:

Between the bent boughs  
of the splayed sumac, the silver
owl rests his head

Tired of the eighties, and the on-
going crisis in masculinity—the compliment 
each generation pays itself—he stared 

More and more, along the shore
of the Northeast Corridor, 
birds are standing in alcoves like telephone booths

The hospital lobby was lined with short 
and long views of Audubon’s birds,
the tallest ones’ necks curved, all the way

I was looking 
for the two 
black men

The tent men arrived bearing sledgehammers
and were young enough to be my sons.  
After rolling out the canvas, they drove rods 

The transfer is done in a dark room
with a red light to keep them calm.  
Still, it’s stressful, hanging upside down, 

Hansel and Gretel were picking strawberries 
and listening to a bronze cuckoo.  
As the forest mist thickened, 

On this tenth day of the year, I play Stravinsky
and sip vodka from a paper cup, taking in the view.
Tendrils twining, leaves rippling, guts absorbing nutrients,

One day Mz N meets a woman
slightly horsefaced
hair a tangle