Tag Archives: Len Kuntz

Today I am desperate for love again, a toyless toddler, a junkyard dog gnawing on its chains. This sidecar rain wants no part of me. The old eagle shivers in its elevator nest. The trees sob and moan, their limbs … Continue reading →

I’d like to read every book on your shelves, find each dog-eared page, the sentences underlined, the fragments of musical text you found most fascinating. I’d string them together with a glue gun, wrap that lexicon noose around my bare … Continue reading →

I am second-guessing my life right now tetherball head in hand standing upside down on the pinnacle of a different kind of puberty on the corner of 1st and Avenue Q on someone’s soggy cardboard floor on a tarmac of … Continue reading →

Each morning I take off my skin Pluck out my eyes Douse myself With lighter fluid And set fire to my brain It’s easier this way The day gets started But I’m already gone I watch the bus Pull up … Continue reading →

He already had a body Two in fact But he wanted a different one Needed a younger one Of his own A confused doe One of those you’re Supposed to kiss Lips closed In affection Not open-mouthed Like a rabid … Continue reading →

We ate the animals we owned And the ones we didn’t sat at The dinner table afterward Playing gin rummy As if it was something Important and special Like taking communion or voting They spoke German Always German Always about … Continue reading →

So much disintegrates when we sleep Dreams are just a disguise A hoax to keep us distracted You were saying his name again The moon and I heard it From where we hung suspended above this bed Congratulations. You have … Continue reading →