OCCUPANTThe sad mailbox of my extreme youth, what did it ever deliver? The only...
A CRITICPick up your socks. Clean the house once in a while. Go to the dentist. ...
HISTORIANPiles and piles of books, boxes of documents, photographs, bones, shreds of clothes...
YOU WHO KNOWI was just enough bigger that I could wrestle you into the clean straw of the mow...
GRIFFY LAKEI spread my smooth water like a lap and caught the trees' faces where they fell...
ON THE ISLAND
This guy drinks a lot and rides his legs
like the chop and splash of a boat.
Days, he runs the island ferry.
Knee-deep in snow late at night,
he sways to the drunken tide in his gut,
stumbles every time he steps.
Stopped still, he looks out over the ice and water.
He makes a strange human waver there
in the dead perfect snow,
tipping the bottle high, pointing the brandy
in a straight line to the moon.