March 9, 2018


Poem | Return to Rosebud

“On the south-facing slopes / so infernally dry / the yuccas spear the sky, / and all the righteous hopes / of ranchers are in vain / for a grass-growing rain”

Poem | Darkness

“There are journeys without ways at all: / You pass through wastes of withered heath, / Through arguments / Like a comb’s teeth”
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