Spring '13 TOC
I'm cut where I wanted to shout
Now I'm looking for new trouble
The ridge where pine trees listen in
On our conversation – we don't
Understand their language, it comes
To this, you said, but I couldn't make
Out what you were saying – about
Reading Kierkegaard on the bus
That morning when outside it's
Still pitch, lights coming on across
Open fields, then flickering out like
Dervish fires of planets & stars, the
Pleiades hunched together & murmuring
::Next::
