Poetry by Devon Brock
Precarious, this light that hangs from a fissure,ties itself to a wet rail with a tendril and pulls,as if the nether side of a storm breaks,upturned and pillowed in a thimbleless pool. On the plains, shipwrecks poke their prows cotillion,sway in the studied drift of sorghum and wheatthreshed in the hoglight of another wet afternoon.But... Continue Reading →
Each,we carrythe full weight of heaven,the piled dust that probes a cloudand falls upon a lockunruly in a faint breeze. Are we the air orthe stroke that cleaves it?Who’s to know. Who’s to resist the gas pullof Jupiter on this morn, westrung out like bandsof flax and false renditionsof self and need as tautas the... Continue Reading →
It is 4 a.m.,and a black dog breakscrust on old snow - stumbles.And a full moon loomsto reveal just easta crackling of limbs felledby gathered frosts and westa barn owl arcs silent - a slurryof cream, hunger and brownwinter kill hovered and plungedby moon and yellow porchlight.A black dog stiffens and sniffs -limbs give no... Continue Reading →
What can I say?I was a bad sunrise,quick scudded to cloudand withholding. Look at it this way,it was a great dayfor pictures,unshadowed,no hotspotsto burn awayin a dance. We were a functionreally, a shallowangle of incidence,a glancing blow,mathematic,not prismatic,no split beam,just one garishmorning thing, and a slowovercasttrundleto a setting. Image: Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash
Come winter the woods will forget my boots, Expunge my passage, deny me familiar, As if I never traveled there, climbed there The oaks, as low birches lurch among The poisons - ivy and sumac. And how is it that the sun finds blockage There, but not the muting snow, unbroken Over the bones of... 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 →
How many schisms does it take to change a light bulb, that gray irritant in the shade, that fray behind diffused glass, incandescent once, but burned, but burned out? Twist the screw, damn you, dare you take the damn thing out and pop it on the floor, such joyous crack, this glass ever thin, this... Continue Reading →
