Driven

edge of the ice

red

of the flower

blade

of the knife

of the road

the turning

harrow of

snow

"A sibyl, number'd in the world"

Recently received: Number 14 in Drew Kunz’s fine, ongoing Series; you can read more about Drew, his newsletter, and his many other artistic endeavors here.

To My Heart, Dead Set in Its Ways

Hear me out, however late

Or hard it may be—

Do not let my crime of not listening

Make you an accessory.

Moot

The inexplicit

Light comes and changes

Everything

When it leaves

For crying out loud, don’t

Think about it.

Photograph: Homesteader, Pie Town, New Mexico, 1940

What is it

That makes this man, knife in hand

Getting ready to cut a head of cabbage

More than the sum of his parts?

I don’t pretend to know the full answer

But I can see that look

Of reverence towards that lowly

Head he is about to sacrifice

Gives me part of it:

Here is a man thankful

For all the simple things

That make up a life, even when

He has to part with them.

Earth Angel on the Horizon

Suspended

Between the sensible

And the celestial,

I wait for that animated miracle

That will keep me from falling

Out of the sky.

Scum Bag

Not having anything wholesome

To offer the hoi polloi,

I’ll just give them

The benefit of the doubt

And give myself

Wholly away.