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March 20, 2018
You can’t live forever in fear   of language. Or well,
you can.
But it’s pathetic.  
March 13, 2018
Come late spring the branches bear

creamy blooms then pulpy orange half-sweet

three- or four-stoned fruits that slip to the dirt

that all things living leave behind, dirt
February 27, 2018
You dwell at green lights
longer than expected.
Thoughts that had gone far
are slow in returning.
February 20, 2018
An Excerpt from My Red Heaven
The iridescent blue butterfly flits free of the airship and is catapulted high into the silver light by a rogue gust of wind.
February 13, 2018
From Suspension
call me   some never mind     precisely     little interest
off circulation     growing about the mouth         damp I
January 30, 2018
From that distance its rifts and fusions across a theater of inexplicable ages sown in
January 23, 2018
All the fowl, land animals, and fish fear him.

Muslims assert that he had an infidel wife named Waila,
who died in the Deluge, and was thus not aboard the Ark.
January 16, 2018
To sit with you
 among the starlings,
 yellow-eyed,  their
  paths hieroglyphic, and
 throw some crumbs our way.
January 2, 2018
I left him in the wilderness, the scrag that’s left of wilderness—plastic bag choking the gatepost, Styrofoam snow in the farmyard. The wilderness drips down my legs. Mercury, moonlight, multinutrient fertilizer. What we pour on the land in nostalgia.
The Pulitzer finalist and National Book Awardwinning author reads from The Overstory
Monday, April 16, 2018
2:30 pm
Campus Center, Weis Cinema