It reminds me of a story my father told me:/He once made the earth not in seven days/but in one. His steely joints wielded lava and water/and mercy in great ionic perfection./He began the world, hammering the length/of trees, trees…

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To…

“he mouths the old warning:/inter [the monster’s] corpse at a fork in the road/that when it escapes from the grave it will not/know the path to follow. His sleep is interrupted/by the open and crash of shutter on window:/his daughter…