My god is patient. She curls like ivy around a crumbling world,/
And howls in the stillness of the night, the silent spaces no ritual can fill.
Our mistakes crack open. Each leaf veined distinctly, and we star-made music makers are finger printed as well. This is expansion: to stand as One with all. The mountains a dense explosion of trees. Night comes to us sexy, whispers to us about belief in light. Words tumble from us. Honesty, a naked falling. We […]
on Sam Edes when he’s backslided all he can stand, blaze orange and camo, unwashed, sour breath, headed for the pines, the power cut, the deer blind before he brakes, yanks the wheel hard, takes the turn-off he had chosen against, he’ll still brag about the eight-point rack, the tenderloin, but now the Holy Ghost […]
Poet Kim Bridgford hopes to publish an essay on every woman poet who has ever lived through the Mezzo Cammin Women Poets Timeline, which she edits.
After Bella In truth, I know nothing of her secret or public life. She is flesh, a body carrying blood, a tight pelt of skin, the mapping of bones, and the nervy jittery pulsing of organs, a panting mouth, a tongue, a small sack of the same complex and rot that makes up my constantly […]
hearing and feeling are technically the same thing so when we talk on the phone
i can pretend it’s as good as touching you
Two crucial words from Rainer Maria Rilke’s ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ are missing from John Paul II’s ‘Letter to Artists’: sex and solitude.
He is putting his whole hood/ over the hyssop, lowering his bone nose/ for the scent.
