February 2010
2 posts
hoar frost! she sends a picture phone to phone
K. Brobeck
January 2010
7 posts
i. The silver cord, the golden bowl, the long home. The cord slips, the bowl cracks, the long home.
ii. The silver chord, the scratched CD that plays a snatch of song again, again. Where will death’s foreplay scratch me, scratch me?
iii. On what will I fix, what neuronal lifeline, my golden bowl at sea?
Slow Reads
Wisdom of a blue morning - the wind lifts; the day turns, returns.
The Middlewesterner
Is there a version of my life in which Mary is the martyr And is there a version of your life in which I traffic in holies
Which direction of existence is the road out of Jerusalem
Grant Hackett Falling off the Mountain, January 16th and 18th
midwinter - hard frosts soften the gardener’s hands
Mark Holloway
Dawn comes, pink and gray as a 1950s shirt. The full moon hangs in the west, no longer blue. I hang the new calendar on the kitchen wall.
Sherry Chandler
a dog in every sunlit yard, greeting the New Year
K. Brobeck