Be sure to visit with our News & Announcements page to learn about upcoming events and more!

It is damp in Paris (excerpts)

It is damp in Paris
and all feeling has left me
no sadness or depression
nor capricious joy just
a body tucked into dark
sleep inside high curtained
windows heavy green velvet
yet cold air sneaks in
with small sounds
a cup meeting its saucer
and a child’s humming
overflowing a staircase.






It is damp in Paris
I sleep bone hard
through the night for once
rise for small porcelain cups
of coffee and citron yogurt
stare at a new ceiling
in an old city where
my language blurts
around itself ineffective
phrases unneeded settling
into the silence of days.







It’s damp in Paris. My lips are bright red but I bleed quiet. Near the shops, the streets smell of cigarettes and cheese. Shoulder to shoulder pressed together unfiltered smoke glances off tiny cups. I walk toward the Seine thinking of Joyce Mansour and Ted Joans. A woman with a beige poodle stops to read graffiti. DANGER DE MORT.








Today Parisians are strolling. No rushed NYer nor big shouldered Chicagoan. In the 7th arrondissement there is a Starbucks and people actually go there. It is unreasonable to grieve people you’ve never met. Joyce Mansour whose body spat grief. Some said it unreasonable but who are we to say where truth lies. My hair is damp and I am serious.






Rusty husk of inanimate things

lining the leaking mouth larvae

she spits in your mouth through laughter

from the deep belly of cosmos and

nightstars hiding in the purpled dark

death wish upon a nightstar untwinkled







I slice the membrane

to reveal a body made of nails
steel shanked shaft and hammered
hematoma, petechiae, purpura,
purpled throat burst open

glittering maw swallows your
blackened blood but first you
catch on my sharp white incisor
tongue sucked dry of nonsense








Joyce and Ted and Heriberto
Wifredo Lam’s “diabolical bird”
slings knives and arrows

en colores de negro
gris y blanquecino en un fondo
de color café oscuro


thumbed through photos
all feeling lulled my
dismembered corpse rises






Mouth full of blood

Mouth full of rain

Mud-soaked Seine

or soiled throat soleil

verschmutzte Kehle Sonne

Süß Süß Süß

Cris Cris Cris