A fish jumped and
I remembered
what it was like
jumping off
the low-dive and
landing on my belly.
Over yonder a tree
on its side
that the beaver hauled down.
A bird.
Until it drops,
until it alights silently
in the extended arms
of the willow.
A thousand lightning bugs
once invisible sting the
twilight like branding irons.
Soon it will be dark,
though the moon
(I’m sure)
grows brighter.
1
The distant percussion
of a woodpecker—
Let’s make ice cream!
2
Asleep on the edge
of the bed,
marriage is not for cynics
3
Sitting here waiting
for the coming disease,
smoking my cigarette
4
Moon bright enough
to read your poems by,
the yard aglow with dew
5
Sunflowers
break the cloudbank,
feeding eagles
by Thom Kortkamp once, we childrenset out together on the golden roadacross big prairie… among the stalks of goldenrod& queen anne’s lace,hands rose: pale & insipid,menacing our flanks swiftly along to the mothertree haven on thin soilfallen branches caressingbeing consumed by buttery … Continue reading last winter’s quest
Here I am hanging onto your wretchedly wonderful world.
1
Complete games
aren’t what they used to be—
bullpens exploding
2
Pitcher wipes his brow,
sun peaks out from clouds—
there goes the runner!
3
It’s lonely on the bench
when you’re pitching well—
no-hitter brewing
4
Ash tree gave its life
for a thousand home runs—
Hall of Fame material
5
It’s past my bedtime
but I’ll listen all night—
extra innings
The artillery moanof a gas-drunk Ditch Witchrents this peaceful afternoonas muscled men set it looseupon my restless neighbor'sgreen, complacent yard.They take turns chewing up the ground,carving out a magazine walkway,lining the gash with shale.And the sod that grew so willinglysits balled-up in a dumpster,growing stale.
To you, this cabernet:But not for my walletI couldn’t have bought it.Its complexion of garnet,and suggestion of leather,leave me drunk and unfit,and you light as a feather.
by Thom Kortkamp endless trains plow underthese hills of rusty clay pulled by a teamof mournful donkeys the whistle bray echoes among black tongue cattle circling turkey vultures tidy the roads,protect … Continue reading things gone without
My uncle, a climatologist,
suggests that global warming
could cause the melting of the
Northern Passages once impassable
to the likes of Henry Hudson
or John Cabot or his son Sebastian searching
for a route to the spices & silks
of the East Indies at the behest
of royalty, their county’s or not.
Imagine: the northern passage is a convenient
shipping route from, say, Shanghai
to NYC forget the skinny Panama Canal
or slow trains or coffeed truckers.
No coldnessNo coldness, noHe was cold even as achildHe was autistic, they thought.A problem w/interactions &communication.We drove him to thisWe drove him to this, noWe were the stagecoachThe trial and the plainThe embrace of a coasthappy to seeany human beingWe were all of these thingsWe were behind the wheelWe were behind the wheel, no.
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