Friends and loved ones (imaginary and otherwise)
How much a process of inelegance
is the stumbling of the sea
I like my weather the way I like my pizza:
Crisp.
Oh, and it is.
Job search update of despair and perplexity:
I don't got one.
Help.
Moving on-----
The Meacham Writer's conference was rather enjoyable. The reading with Richard Jackson, James Tate, and Gerald Stern was off tha' charts, which is a way of saying "real good".
I workshopped this poem:
Begunje
We follow the paths of madmen
who walk in straight lines, who keep the grounds
clean, who do not go beyond this boundary
of trees. They call this exercise-
to clear their heads of demons.
There are enough, already, in the bullets
implanted in this reclining hill,
And these, we hope, will never grow.
The trees mended each spring
Over scars and knots
To help the children climb.
We notice young men still scrambling
up the hillside
to breach the weariness of the forest’s
sprawl, to find that distended border and resting
where they cannot hear
their mothers’ shouts:
Come back home.
If you get any thoughts feel free to e-mail or comment.
I may start posting poem works-in-progress on here.
Bear with me. Bear with you. Bear with bears.
Modest Mouse rocks my brain.
is the stumbling of the sea
I like my weather the way I like my pizza:
Crisp.
Oh, and it is.
Job search update of despair and perplexity:
I don't got one.
Help.
Moving on-----
The Meacham Writer's conference was rather enjoyable. The reading with Richard Jackson, James Tate, and Gerald Stern was off tha' charts, which is a way of saying "real good".
I workshopped this poem:
Begunje
We follow the paths of madmen
who walk in straight lines, who keep the grounds
clean, who do not go beyond this boundary
of trees. They call this exercise-
to clear their heads of demons.
There are enough, already, in the bullets
implanted in this reclining hill,
And these, we hope, will never grow.
The trees mended each spring
Over scars and knots
To help the children climb.
We notice young men still scrambling
up the hillside
to breach the weariness of the forest’s
sprawl, to find that distended border and resting
where they cannot hear
their mothers’ shouts:
Come back home.
If you get any thoughts feel free to e-mail or comment.
I may start posting poem works-in-progress on here.
Bear with me. Bear with you. Bear with bears.
Modest Mouse rocks my brain.