So, yeah, I’m real delighted to have these new poems about garbage, strikes, and rivers I’ve lived by in @SnailTrailPress III.
You can read them line by line, dollar by dollar, or throw the bottle against a wall and spend the feathers, or place the bottle on your shelf and admire the striations of money, which will spend, and the mark of a hand, which will live on past its mark and then not. Or you can imagine in the curled bills the phonemes at play against the discipline of the sonnet’s metrical grid. A poem that is bitter, or poem you imagine that is better than a poem could be. Money!
I kept having dreams that involved geese. I was being attacked or they were attacking me. There were geese skirmishes. There was one where they were all frozen and I was supposed to hit them with a sledgehammer. I was doing them some kind of… Read More