Read: porch as reproach; aperture as rapture. Spring has come and gone. Now the crepe myrtles shed weak fireworks; a haze thickens in the heat. Don't you also tremble at the thought of a future which shows its teeth then backs away, swallowing itself? For every discovery in the world, a list of side effects we're only just starting to feel. Some things haven't changed: cast-off clothes sail around the world in ships packed with weapons and lumber. Viewed from afar, the horizon could still be an edge— it took us forever to imagine it as a place from which we'd fall.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.