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Tag Archives: WWP Poems
Darkly we whisper: this tale is older than you, a world that will never pause like dust to build a hill; the curves and loops of letters create their own rhythm. Have they trampled over barbwire?
I. In my dreams, withered leaves shaped like crumbled persimmon hands fall at my feet. They join the spent ballots that have already landed and lay trampled beneath my soles. These crowds of little martyrs give up their ghosts, singing … Continue reading
Dear Mr. Campbell: How do you say goodbye to someone when you don’t know when he is leaving? That is the new, and the real, question.