The Bath
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…
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…
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…
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…
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…