Walking Past a Farm on the First Day of Spring
Blades open the earth, with a smelllike blood or bread rubbed to crumbs. News of my darkening country has methinking of poets slaughtered by…
Blades open the earth, with a smelllike blood or bread rubbed to crumbs. News of my darkening country has methinking of poets slaughtered by…
They believe the world can be good, so I tap the car horn and raise a fist in solidarity with the six or seven teenagers, all…