It is an Art,
To poison a well...
By ounce, when the liquor's weak,
But a proper drop:
Will send a whole village to Hell.
On Infirmity (fragment)
Thin encumbering cobalt stitchery,
Under my gaze grows thick.
From cell to cell I am reminded
Of the unfortunate filial piety,
Of Certain pathogens.
Amorous Syrup (fragment)
Slow-dropping strings make
Into blundering beads,
Breaking on the profundity of paper.
Her first-broken comb.
Ambling tangle turned "cob".
Husky orient-black birth-hollow;
A spent Widow twists and jars my glass.
The boy had a rattle in his foul bones..