Poetry by Devon Brock.
It is not the sapling or bit snowthat scrapes the window, coaxing,Come out little boy, come out -Come out where the sting wind blowsCome out where the wind plays a saplingas a rube to scratch its bidding on a window.That little life left tight against the foundationmissed in the pruning now the dim wittedaccomplice to... Continue Reading →
Weathermen are pushing the storm. Nobody noteworthy died today. Eight to twelve on the Twins. Havoc on the plains and cancellations pending. No travel advised. The schools flaked out before the first wind blew, and the office is gutted parental. Milks are shoveled in carts, pricey waters too. Croutons got hoarded like hardtack, and only... Continue Reading →
Is it alright, my love, that I fear your breathing, that I tremble in time, with it? Is it alright, my love, that in your breath is the absence of breath and a leaving? Is it alright to look slow upon the glow that lights your now and ruddy face, lost in some distraction, to... Continue Reading →
