Poetry by Devon Brock.
no-one hears red as you your singe is not my singebut all things burn but if you’re willingif you’re willingto speak into tonguesall yellow and viper orange and if I too am willingmay I crouch there before youfuel to fuelbreath to breath smoke unto nothingthat both we may burnthat both we may blue Image: JR... Continue Reading →
On a day unlike ours — how many hourson a string loose strung does our starling love pulsebetween a pair of paper cups — You, over there, not far,but further than you’ve ever been, dismissed to the dispensary —old tools, vague tones, muffled in a string between cups. But delightful, so delightful — mis-clarity or... Continue Reading →
I findnot many lighters and too many cheap shades,laid against a loose-hinged trifocal,Expensive, lost and necessary,upon the flip-top notebookbound with crushed spiral wire,And within, the gibberishof a young girl’s day -there are holes above the i’sand myriad loves to Matthew. I finda green squeeze coin purse -an old man’s plastic strongbox -scavenged of cointhat only... Continue Reading →
Which river to cross -The shallow brook of faith,Tepid in the slow run to God, orThat which drains into the oily pitsOf loss, tormented though aliveIn sure and certain combustion? Give me fire and hard current,Give me love and rounding stone,Give me rasping scale and snag,Jagged rapid bends,And the black swamp moccasinBite into my fat... Continue Reading →
For what, then, do we trodThe husks of dead men,And for whom?Is it the trinkets improved?For we are no larger than the beast -And there the judgement - the beastThat fashioned the first spade,Turned the first soil,Laid the first seed,Sure in the touchOf sun, water and repercussion.No, perhaps diminished, reducedUpon that self-same soil,To seek, beyond... Continue Reading →
