I found my hurt at the center
of the universe which is always
in front of my face. The drug that
hugs me to sleep can keep me
from it; an inkling of the nothing
happening around, and who can say
we are not half as
I met Nicholas Goodly at The West End Lounge on Manhattan's Upper West Side. The bar was nearly empty but we still found ourselves shouting to compete with the Soul music blaring from the sound system. The West End Lounge itself is a
Magic city, little trap,
you are a mess of tonguing brass.
a lap of slack jaws open in your wake
as fire boys jive in your sugarcane song.
a coat of muddy lard thickens the air,
every crevice on our bodies are wet.
Global War on Terror Service Ribbon
(excerpt from “Insignia Sonnets”)
I want to turn you inside out. From head
to toe, I want to know each act you did
for us. I want numbers, how many dead
by your hand and whether they deserved it