The Sadness of Morning Glories Out of Season
Why do their wilted vines still cling to walls,
to porch supports, to trellises? So dry
and desiccated, it seems that they should fall
back in the dirt. The seasons slide on by,
Poems
The Word of the Day Is Widdershins
which sounds fun and elfin, like that
dance that leprechauns do, hobnail boots
clicking with glee or maybe something a
confused rabbit in coattails might say
when he’s lost his way:
My Father Speaks of His Father.
If you did not resist
May’s light might sing different.
There’s still spring in the battlefields
And everywhere there is blood.
[By] Halves
What if one leg isn’t in love with the other any more, can’t recall who smudged the wallpaper, a
Invisible Horse
In fifth grade, Stewart Jackson gave me a see-through, anatomically accurate plastic model horse. It had removable organs