Nava Fader


Weeping I saw gold and could not drink


In the most poetic village with the bonny maid part dancer and part pure chemistry is my simple hallucination:


I tremble toward a mosque, an unseen place—or is that me—I am the drummer boy in a band of angels. They take their tea, naturally, in the trees, where fronds drip milk and the sweet sugar sap.


They are monsters. They are mysteries. One injection from the three-ringers would make… well, that has not happened.


Puss in Boots explains the logic, but I don't understand his sophistry.


This is a sacred disorder of the spirit. Idling but quavering slightly from fever.

Happiness in beets, in chenille. The limbs of babies and virgins.


My cataracts are grinning. Here I say farewell and tender the spectacles of romance.


May it come, may it come,

The time we will fall in love with.




Give me five kisses


It's dissolved in flax, the straw in the vendor's cart

under the guns and eggplants


on the verge of this brutal

fin in the weave, boutique

fans arranged.

that wreckage you call aorta move where


the flappers show their lacy underthings in flight

to. Pull yourself up hose abandoned

toes boxed offered in fire

to the god of fire.


General, lay your pellets aside, the ruined goose

shits feathery missiles on mother earth. The glacial

time and terror of, his gaping grin lopsided

ice only the mirror above the bar. The fishshop

in the village. The gargoyles do breath

rusting aspirations. The ruby of his temple



I trot to the school for tambourine instruction all the fronds buzzing before me and aft a franchise, darling, for the saloon for the milk and from the lake these monsters named: Mysterie 1. Mysterie 2. Innoculation against vaudevillians' pout. Enviable smoking
dying drying embers kippers and toast the hair from the chin of the mountain goat the softest tapers the bedspread slightly damp covers the supper table.




Transparent meshes


the harpy's cage or for us

she is nighttime sky-

bound cervical cap

on dreams only

in this language I pretended


I was from another country

so my foreignness was forgivable


fuck under the tented covers it's comforting

and now you've had one child you're roomy

pretend (she said) my crotch is the cow's barn


he wrote: the trout moon

to hell with similitude and its stinky aroma

vegetable eludes the best of use mineral wisdom

as his teeth calcify clarify the salty channels tributary

heart and brain was it mouse pee or embryo cell

the steadfast cure the quickest way.




Two ivory women by a milky sea


but what we heard

palpation the skin

his heart uplifted who wants

to know


Mud dredged chains the heart

gone swamping for the voice



Tinker box tinder switch

fancy feet to flame a small one

nips at her poor joan her dress ash



Transfixed the idea of the weavers

ugliest ladies you haven't seen


flat of the blade pull the thread through