THE STRAWBERRY BLONDE Miasmal afternoons in run-down shadeof clutter and rickety porches, smells of sex,and filthy carpets, loose floors, leaning walls,interminably appointmentless an

HALFWAY THROUGH THE YEAR OF THE DRAGON She loves the music box forever, she's crying on my shoulder-The Blue Nile, 'Stay'You can mythologise anywhere but you cannot

AESTHETICS, ON A SIDE STREET OFF GLASGOW GREEN The sky is starred by the shells of the BochesThe marvellous forest where I live is giving a ball— Apollinaire, La Nuit d’avril 1

DRIFT From one directiona body made of gold.From anotherboats in snow.Months too early andno sacrifice mendingthis.It wasn’tno wind;there was wind—

ANOTHER PLANETHe has been studying the lostgirls again, says he’s puzzledby their music. Partial to the scars.Their high voices that draguntil they break off.

NO CHEMOTHERAPY ‘Then can I go home?’ she asks them brightly.I note three pearls, bunched at the doctor’s throat,the dark nape of the fair nurse, curling tightly.The silence str

GHAZAL: "AFGHAN" You need an example of how this knotted worldAdumbrates the meanings of words? I have one: "Afghan."Seventy-three per cent of AmericanFamilies possess greater than

AFTER BRUEGEL The magpie on the gallowshas seen it all, but nowremembers nothing;the bright beadsof his eyes swivellingremorselesslyfrom one catastropheto another. And th

3 poems-Translated from Czech by Tereza Novická____________________________________________________________________sidewalks full of dead birds sometimesa girl makes a boy th

TRUE WAY The true way to brush your teeth is like painting the Golden Gate Bridge. One side always gets more fluoride than the other. When you reach Marin'

THE EMPEROR OF THE EMPIRE There was no such thing as salt, norwas there a taste called salt, nor did anyonewish his meat or his bread saltedor its bitterness soothed by salt, norwer

SONNET It begins with a fire in the dry brushat dusk, smoke from the burning. The brickyard where I’m sitting is gritty with sandand the stubborn stalks of weeds. I watchthe fire

BUDAPEST it’s morning and my knee hurts when I move itthe right one but only when I move itso I stop moving my right leg but nowthere’s this dull ache under my left should

A PAINTER, ON HER ANNIVERSARYMy first painting, that one. I rememberthe feeling that the light was creatingthe shade, somehow, of coming into November,of always turning, never

FIRST FLUSH There they hover, the invisible makers.This man strung your piano. This weldersoldered your car door. Those farmers grewwheat for your flour, cotton for your shirts.

CASA GRANDE At the Casa Grande disco, men hold onto other men’s behinds, and womenhold on to men’s behinds,and everyone is holding onto what it means to be dancingand holding