I wouldn’t give ten gallons of my own piss for clear sentence that gives the sense of a tree as a tree, when I revel in the nonsense of its being my own Grandfather, a...

It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be, with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other’s hands in the dark. No chains or promises, just a...

He was a compact, clearcut man, with precise features, a lot of very soft black hair, and thoughtful dark brown eyes. He had a look of wariness, which could change when he felt relaxed or...

Sometimes you need to sit lonely on the floor in a quiet room in order to hear your own voice and not let it drown in the noise of others.

Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan scornful...

I’m a man of music as much as I am a man of words and prose. One could even possibly say that they, music and prose, are connected to a lengthy and mutually beneficial extent...

Nothingness…there in this placewhere nothingness takesbut for the glimmera steadfast shimmerall would be consumed…

… endowing the imperfect and the preterite with all the sweetness which there is in generosity, all the melancholy which there is in love; guided the sentence that was drawing to an end towards that...

I paid the taxi driver, got out with my suitcase, surveyed my surroundings, and just as I was turning to ask the driver something or get back into the taxi and return forthwith to Chillán...

I haven’t been very impressed lately.By people,or places,or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.

There were days when I still put on make up in case you’d come back,but I wear the same clothes and shower in the rainand eat when I can and sleep when I can,which is...

The Grim Reaper isn’t grim at all; he’s a life-saver. He isn’t grim because he isn’t anything. . . . he is nothing. And nothing is a hell of a lot better than anything. So...

Nowhere hidden has ever turned away a goodheart guest.

Saturated Arrogance…imprisoned musescried to be freeshe took away their quillsand saiddo not bother me…

A forced contemplation of the heavens, crisp and angelic blue, a classic prelude to death.

She would not have cared to confess how infinitely she preferred the exactitude, the star-like impersonality, of figures to the confusion, agitation, and vagueness of the finest prose.

Parched by the deprivation of your love for so long made me forget what a cup brimming with love, on my lips, felt like. Everything that now wets it, only wrinkles it with a bland...

He left that morning, the last words still echoing in my head, and though he said he’d come back one day I know a broken promise from a right one for I have used them...

I want to burn with excitement or anger and bleed, bleed out my words. I want to get all fucked up and write raw and ugly about all these things I see and am and...

Driving down deserted early morning roads. Round and round. Round downtown. Through naked streets. Lips pursed on two litre bottles of beer, but pursuing the lips of freedom’s night. Swapping cars. Winding up at karaoke...

In the coastal strains of music full of lovers hopes and dreams upon, wearing only warmth, fresh scent of the ocean and delightfully joyous smile…I look deep in your dark gloomy ochi ‘cross the oceans...

A Coy Aversion…a fluttertoo shyto be seen…

I’m a better polemicist in prose.

Niko? I have decided to christen this little pool Le Cagot’s Soul.””Oh?””Yes. Because it is clear and pure and lucid.””And treacherous and dangerous?””You know, Niko, I begin to suspect that you are a man of...

Always be a poet, even in prose.

Am I making something worth while?I’m not sure.I write and I sing and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts,but am I making...

It’s been the longest timeSince I’ve been in this place,Where I spend my whole dayHoping I’ll see your face.Then I script things to say,And maybe what you’d say back.You don’t know it yet,But, girl, it’s...

Poetry is prose in slow motion.

RebukeObstinate regressionbringing untold pathsof deep dark forebodingdepression…

You campaign in poetry. You govern in prose.

Insofar as craft and poetics in a poem have a politics, I wanted to avoid that brittle enjambed-prose-sentence-lyric verse, where you have standard sentences snapped off and scattered decoratively across the page (which I might...

It’s the smell of him in the bathroom, all I need to get ready for the day. Watching him get dressed, and the sound in the kitchen; a slow hum of a song and his...

It could be yesterdaywhen I was less in loveI thinkFor I didn’t see you in the mirrorbehind mewhile getting dressed.The way your hands couldn’t stay awayand our bodies always found their ways back to each...

There was a wildness inside him; someday he would capture it. Not to be tamed, but to be released. For only by understanding his mind could it be freed.

Later when they would mention, they would say, and everyone would know, but not nearly as well as they meant.

The Bane…where coxswain’s dirtand seaman’s shirtsbrushed bawdily upon her chest…

Behind the perfection of a man’s style, must lie the passion of a man’s soul.

Victor was the first to speak, and when he did, it was with an eloquence and composure perfectly befitting the situation

There were these things and the flames ate these things, and since fire doesn’t distinguish between the word of God and the word of the Soviet Communications Registry Bureau, both Qur’an and telephone directory returned...

It’s January and I’m kicking snow off the ground. I just threw out the flower you made me promise to water, handle with care, because I was too careless, you said. Careless with things and...

I seek the city because there is nothing sweeter than not being alone in your loneliness.

Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end.

Your whispers are gentle echoes that sway ardent winds of harmony and in the symphony of life each word is wrapped in rhapsody… Dance with me within the wind… Let me love You…

Bring Down The WallsI will bring down the wallsthat surround me today.I will no longer be kept quietMeek enough to drown today….

DADDYYou do not do, you do not doAny more, black shoeIn which I have lived like a footFor thirty years, poor and white,Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.Daddy, I have had to kill you.You died...

Today may be your last chance to be you, someone you forgot to completely immerse yourself in because you were too worried about the details. The details that, no matter how many times you thought...

Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes.Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after...

It is not certain whether the effects of totalitarianism upon verse need be so deadly as its effects on prose. There is a whole series of converging reasons why it is somewhat easier for a...

This town of churches and dreams; this town I thought I would lose myself in, with its backward ways and winding roads leading to nowhere; but, I found myself instead. -Magic in the Backyard (excerpt...

At Times I Am A Flower…at times I am a flower ~singularly defined …