This poem is taken from Stand 212, 14(4) December 2016 - February 2017.
Five Poems
Mojave St NW
Ghosts rib the yard—jimson vines,
autumn’s dry peppers, tomato hills.
He walks the ravaged rectangle, unable to substantiate
earth’s detritus, dried and weightless.
...
Ghosts rib the yard—jimson vines,
autumn’s dry peppers, tomato hills.
He walks the ravaged rectangle, unable to substantiate
earth’s detritus, dried and weightless.
...
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