That one bag night, he led me by my wrists As if I couldn’t walkread more...
Posts Tagged ‘Poetry 88’
Iowa: Beside cornfields, you bicycle, corduroy sweeping
spokes, tuffs of blond blowing,
glasses fogged by cold. You’re on your way
First, a bed made of sleep. Then, rubied crowns stacked into kings or cracked into
Poolside in a cruise
Jane’s scene opens
Maybe an orange
will help. Or a
The way this sunrise pools thickly
onto brick tenements like mnemonic
We could talk about teeth
in a dimly lit room.
A thousand years before I started
worrying about how to cook the chicken,
I’d wander around the big state fair
In the garden today while the kids watched turtles R. said that the brood of cicadas that’s been sleeping underground drinking root juice for seventeen years will come out soon.read more...
I didn’t see mountains until I was eighteen
and then I thought, oh good. That’s what
it looks like: the shattered edge