Bulldoze the bed where we made loye, bulldoze the goddamn room. Let rubble be our evidence and wreck our home.
I can't give touching up by inches, can't give beating up by heart. So set the comforter on fire, and turn the dirt to some advantage—palaces of pigweed, treasuries of turd. The fist will vindicate the hand, and tooth and nail refuse to burn, and I must not look back, as Mrs. Lot was named for such a little— something in a cemetery, or a man. Bulldoze the coupled ploys away, the cute exclusives in the social mall. We dwell on earth, where beds are brown, where swoops are fell. Bulldoze the pearly gates: if paradise comes down there is no hell.
Most Recent Book: Shades (Wesleyan University Press, 1988)
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