As/Is







1.20.2026


Frequencies I (2018 draft)

 


NARROW BED

New Hampshire, summer night: I
nailed her, pliant, tanned, teased out
beneath me as flies roughened the room,
pirouetted moist air, as we rose
over convention to do just what we
wanted: make myth become flesh.
She stood, sans me knowing, on
prosody, a series of poems she wrote
swirling around how she might deal
with contracts, extinction. The poems,
I’d guess, were running through her
head as we made love on the narrow
bed. The sun rose at 4 am, roughed
us up again, but what was done: a final draft.