Poetry by Devon Brock.
So buoyant, the bath, the salts,the uncreaked bones, the knoband socket, like that blasé afternoonwith its shallow sun and lotions,with its plinkos and tokens -that cool and wayward drifton a raft, chest to the sky,when the chatter fell,when the tide rolled in,and heaved me upon the sharp edge of the beach,and left me there, thrown... Continue Reading →
Oh these blind trajectories,these pure set conditions,initial, merry, just so wandered -a shell thus thrown, a plungedalbatross beak, a shearedstab of ice, a moon’s pulland a breath elastic - All these and a calculus,as crest to valley lumbersin its way - sine to sine -chopped though ever freeand unlapped after. Yes, that is how to... Continue Reading →
The roads here,rum tongued, black toothedand pitted, lead somewhere. I am sure that over the peak of it,splayed out like toes in dry sand,tractioned for tide, a florescence,maybe, maybe down in the abalone towns,the oyster shot towns - in The Mother of Pearl,where I met a guy,a guy named Reason,slim fingered and wrungout at last... Continue Reading →
Loosed beyond the sprung cattail, the sun downs on someone, not by some malice called darkness. A day simply withers its way in its way to a downing set loosed beyond those easterly creeks, fat beyond the headwaters meek, buoyant, strode over and giddy as a waif skipping stone. Yes, the sun is downing on... Continue Reading →
