Alack,
you stand for No thing
Not even a sculpted mask:
Lover. Marketer. Fiend.
I’ve found something I should tell you about.
Let the voice rehearse:
If a kingfisher dives and restrains, all at once,
can dark swoops grip time? Just now,
a drop of snow in a bled desert, on his way
to springing a dove:
then the blood sun’s a threat.
Escalante
The only place
of “no permission.” In the deep
of the canyon, I could
smell a death through a passage.
A wing-torn crow lay
watching the shadows
bounce off the wall. The Guide
drizzled water
near his feet.
“The wolves would have him,
Sooner or Later.”
For Robert Creeley
a bell
or like a bell
some ring
far away
and it could
have been
just about
any thing
Connor Stratman lives in Dallas, Texas. His books and
chapbooks include VOLCANO (Writing Knights Press, 2011), SOME WERE AWAKE
(plumberries press, 2011), and SOME WERE AWAKE (Erbacce Press, 2010). His work
has appeared in such journals as Moria, Counterexample Poetics, Ditch,
Otoliths, Dead Snakes, Etcetera, and many others. He is currently pursuing a
PhD in English Literature at the University of Texas at Arlington.
