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ISSN: 1941-4137 |
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Volume Six Issue One |
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Shadows of Oak Here Only a grass widow's High ginger hair could Lance the air. Nightfall Cements that 223-foot bridge Over the Carbon River. Preacher Sloan Jumped off of it 16 days ago, here now At this same 7:37 pm. Light is a war bride Of a firebird here, Married to the world's Wreck: The end of all Telephone poles & River logs. Now this final mass grave, My poplar tree's grave, Cabins those who said This vast crow's saw. "After your suicide, I was Right. I knew you Couldn't take the guilt Of being alive." Now all welded voices Are baggage. Only a wind's Tomahawk slash Bayonets The barefaced air of all Evergreens. A Eulogy for the fantasy Of all gates may as well be The term of the barn swallow, The Minotaur drilled, engineless, My own obituary beside me. |
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