This is the country god made for us: hard scrabbled and scramble egged; frustrated with fusion, soft and easy; every object of our affection in-between. Suddenly there is no one left I wish to talk to: a click of feathers and hollow bones, the bird away, the dog excited, and I am not among the living as I wish to be. Nor am I among the dead. […]
Go on; enjoy yourself. I’m not returning home this winter. I don’t want to make the mistake of another year, Missouri a long way off, full of superstition, omens, and witch’s meat. I’ll miss the ripeness of soil, the grazing river, wild turkeys, possums in the abandoned car, the red fox living beneath the house, voles camped in the hills. Some things need endings more than others, superstition a heavy […]
–Man’s rejection, God’s protection. I am exactly like I am. No water of mistrust here. Swamps, perhaps. The heavy coil of wood. Bones to go with it. There was no landscaper in your life, there was no man without a car, there was just me: The brake in the stomach feels no pain; the break in the heart, everything. White hair of frost, powder and grey, the […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 