Poetry by Devon Brock.
If I were a sunlit dog,I’d bask in the road,eat from your can,shit on your porch. If I were a sunlit dog,I’d be feral as cats,wily as ‘coons -the mouse that chews your cables. I’d be the aphids killing your roses,and the black ants herding them there. I’d be the deer, the pheasant,the skunk, and... Continue Reading →
Is it a greater mercy to pinch the injured wasp...
...Sleep conjured a small dogwith a granite eye, mats and mange,Three legs and a vagrant tongueThat hung from the left of its snout,A viscous drool that strung withoutShame, without breaking to the floor.And I, though broken in a dream,Shorn of hands,Less a body than a thought,Became a dream for a stone-eye dogWho rolled belly up... Continue Reading →
Up there, in the brevities and rifting cloud something lures my eyes. For this dog is a blacker black than a slip moon night, but here, on this morn, the dim prevails. And the bending of wet leaves beneath her paws wager green hope, but they're brown. I saw them yesterday. Yesterday, before the rain... Continue Reading →
