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 →
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 →
