Category Archives: Language Place Blog Carnival

Mr. Ice Cream

I took this photo at the Hotel Los Flamingos in Acapulco, a bit over a year ago now.
The poem is from A Foal Poem.

This post is part of the Language>Place Blog Carnival #12 (Food), edited by Linda Evans Hofke (link).



I stole the birds from Dorothee Lang; here they are. They are French birds.

The little poem is mine. It’s from A Foal Poem.

The drunk tree/gossip tree is in Sayulita and it’s a ficus. All this is completely true. A lion told me it happened, just like that.

Three Cockatoos

Above the marble plinth by the stairs
they are on their perches. Le dejeuner sur l’herbe
on branches. The little one on the left is naked
a yellow crest. The jungle, like Manet’s scene,
lacks depth. The leaves are brocade
and the birds’ feathers puckered upholstery.
The top one has one wing out: a cloak
for the little one, who cowers
from the third’s open beak, jabbing tongue
and foreshortened body. Above them three
flowers and the stem of another bows over-

or it’s a case of negligence, that top one
with no tilt in his torso;
a precarious cantilever.
Through the lianas a clearing-
or it’s grotesque, this semaphore? Painters,

Zola said, do not share the masses’ obsession
with subject, but here it is, I say to him:
draped over the lower branch like tripe,
something regurgitated, jungle slime,
something, finally, from deep within.


* This poem has previously appeared in my book, to the river.


Winding along the Michoacán coast
Concrete Blonde and joking I thought
he meant, Blondie…. Norwegian
blue stare and proclivity for
the double negative, laughing over
no hay!” and comfortable silences
it’s hard to imagine
his strong veins plunged with dope
the sheer-fall cliffs
the black sand beach
eruptions of a complex high-
temperature fluid substance –
oh, yeah – viscous lava
bubbles in the rock; vein, eye
jaw, he is both/and/or
one thing and then the other.

* This poem appeared in Two Weeks: A Digital Anthology of Contemporary Poetry
(Jan 2011.) Published by the editors of Linebreak.
* Also in the book A Foal Poem.
* This photo was taken where the poem took place also, along the Michoacán coast.

Banana Leaves

against the grey sky they are
giant chartreuse loofahs
and I want to pick one
cavort in it, strumpet-like

green, so clearly his color
although of course when we first met
I said orange or red
but now I know, peridot lion

banana leaves are stamped
caution: fragile: forget it: the world

don’t work that way, he says
and money don’t buy you brains
to which I say, good
‘cause both of those went out
with the last of the empties
but, banana leaves
are to wrap things in
like bodies and fears

or, as diaphanous butter knives
they are to block light,
partially, and be shone through
partially, to look up and see, partially
as Lilliputian, beetle; fungus.

* This poem also appeared in The Toronto Quarterly, issue 7.