Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
I. Theo Opening again the arrantcorrespondence—relief of the sown fields,bread of affliction:a restless brother burnshis way to harvest,painting space as thing,as woodcut furious,flinders of fire and leaf,heavy, sun-dense strokes, dark notes dealingfor fugitive effects;a red brother workingpetitions…
–for Lucas Clark In the rain, I climb into the mouthof the cave, and Lucas is rowing throughhis dream. He says, there are so many peoplein the next life, like you wouldn’t believe.His boat has…
You cradled our moto-X babies, our strip mall teens, and three pack a day fathers, chilled our ring-tabbed beer cans in your run-off rivers, and absorbed oilrising like mist from our vats of fried food, sucked exhaust from our…
Ruins A child, two sizes too small. An improvised bomb on loan from the city’s museum of modern art. A plagiarist on the street corner tapping veins for the aftermarket haiku. A chamber maid removed…