But look, the morn in russet mantel clad walks over the dew of yon high eastward hill.[i] What he says: Of course I cannot see his distress. A blackened bowl is one that makes the most of the daylight. He is alone, left in the fortress to have a conversation with a ghost— ‘I wantContinue reading “A Conversation with a Ghost”
For Anna Mark My poems feel overdressed when I read your poetry. [i] I love their nakedness— or, as modesty would have it, I love the bathing suits they wear— worn fully without clinging. Yes, my clothing does cling— like everything else— too much these days. Of course, one’s clinging to life is the sourceContinue reading “To Anna”
Unearthly, he thought. I fled the earth; you fled the water. Only the sky remained serene. In your refction, I find the glass head. It sparks and speaks. Your head shakes in a mouse’s self-awareness that is monstrous. To eat the mouse you tear apart his skin. Between your lips— so rapturous— you preen themContinue reading “Unearthly”
This is the other side of the block,. One of two small private parks.
This picture was inspired by Thomas Davis’s picture of Potwatomi State Park.Where my wife and i go walking couldn’t be more different. I don’t actually walk–I hobble along on my crutches. But that’s a story for another day. The picture is of the UN and the surrounding property. We walk on a small outcropping ofContinue reading “Where we go walking in the evening.”