Here are some poems that are not in either book. These first appeared in The Gettysburg Review
six in the fifth place
means:
He shoots a pheasant.
It drops with the first arrow.
In the end this brings both praise
and office.
I Ching
Because it was 1967, the city
was filled with bands, and Jorma
says many were as good as the
Airplane. So much of it was
luck, he admits in the film
that’s made a rock band proper
history. And what if the day
I called Jim he’d been out?
Or if Matisse had made it
through law school? If the
chemist’s glue had held we’d
have no post-its. Accidental
glory. But we’re enamored
of our sweat. Perseverance
furthers we claim. Still, in these
days of war I pray for some
lucky break. Some mistake or
failure that might save us all.
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six at the beginning
means:
when ribbon grass is pulled up
the sod comes with it.
I Ching
You know this one, He’s old.
And rich. He can do what he
wants. It would even be boring
but there’s threat to the soil.
She has the naked glance of
fourteen, hair tucked beneath
her cap and he wants to take
that, the lustrous unveiling.
It’s hard to be without the cash
to crush a fat old man, hard to
face it, as you julienne the carrots
in his wife’s kitchen. She stands
with a knife in her hands as he
comes downstairs. The curls fall
like ribbons, filling the hollow
at her neck. And though we
want to say at the end that she
recovers wholly, it isn’t true.
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