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October 17, 2017
Cycles of sleep and waking. Birds migrating from cold region to warm. The rate of polar ice melting. Or the beat of iambs or the subtler pulse of prose.
October 10, 2017
Let me say this one thing, that the meteor is a woman of varying biologies and the crocuses are rising up. In only three words I can convey a schism: x, y, z. Insert here for pleasure.
October 3, 2017
Here is Pitkin Plaza, three boys
sharing a cigarette, antibodies
bound to platelets that fuzzed-out guitars
in headphones eliminate.
September 26, 2017
Once upon a night, she landed
On an airstrip of impotence     Whoosh!
September 19, 2017
There where the night broke an arm
on the lamp at the end of the houses
I explain silence
September 12, 2017
this body I can’t find

is just a crow my eye was following until it slipped
through sky’s white crease
September 5, 2017
That is the true philosophical paradox: not how you can travel from point A to point B without first traversing a spatial infinity, bridging all the subdivisible points between them; but rather, how you can travel from mind A to mind B without first traversing a psychological infinity. Leaving the apartment in one frame of mind, how could you ever arrive at a new one?
August 29, 2017
Something about the building of the Tower of Babel, he thought; yes, it seemed likely, in that instant, that the foundations laid for the Tower of Babel had been the subject of the sentence he’d started and then abandoned, but when he looked down at his lecture notes he could not find the words “Tower” or “Babel” written anywhere in them.
August 22, 2017
Time after time, I saw overlapping images everywhere. Even when I looked at my children, I didn’t see two of them, but six of them. Only when I looked at my wife, I saw just one image. As for the neighbors, they became a large flock of countless things.
August 15, 2017
He ties a bell to her ankle, but she removes it in her sleep. He ties one of her wrists to the bed frame with twine, but she loosens the knot with the other hand and slips out. That night she wakes upside down, slung over his shoulder.
August 8, 2017
A dancer dragging her arms across the stage, slapping feet through a watery pool
            panting from a bent body
August 1, 2017
One: he must leave at night. Two: he must come back the next day immediately after dark. And three: he couldn’t tell anyone where he worked, couldn’t discuss what happened in the prison at all.
July 25, 2017
Big bovine heads float over the destroyed city
Laser beams of mean girl miffed fury zing
Down from their eyes the rubble smokes
July 18, 2017
The body is an object that orients vision. As much as I want to, I can’t stop looking. All the people getting on the subway—strangers. And yet I look at them, hopefully, vacantly. I stare.
July 11, 2017
In the palace of music, a gathering of the mute:
this became the body.
June 20, 2017
Parts 3–6
Coiled in the mother’s womb in the birth sac is a small creature with a large head and flat puckered face, tight-shut eyes, tiny clenched fists, that could be mistaken for a purely human fetus, or, from another angle, a chimpanzee baby with somewhat human features.
June 13, 2017
Parts 1–2
By measured stages seduction, sexual relations, impregnation. And if impregnation, gestation.
     Birth, and beyond birth.
May 23, 2017
Under cover,
the ground seems
legless.
May 16, 2017
All day all I think is I’m tired and typing, ticker. Am I talking too much or for. And why a girlish void person of emotional scaffolding a demon, a deadness. A depth, nonromantic. As though. The real deadness front-paged and swallowed.
May 9, 2017
a few acorns forgotten
under the national soot

so much wonderland
a can of borscht in the larder
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The celebrated author reads from The Zookeeper’s Wife
Monday, October 30, 2017
2:30 pm
Campus Center, Weis Cinema