photo credit: weesam2010
Jacob Strautmann
Par Avion
Did you see the sky on the twenty-third
green and black over itself tumbling
like a nest of snakes opened in hard light?
Enclosed: the telescope I promised.
Keep it dressed in its warm and red-lipped case.
Poems may follow. Yesterday I cleared
the well-house. The moving jaws of copperheads,
little heads lined up on a concrete floor,
laughing at the blood-spackled hoe,
at the whole miserable operetta,
reminded me of something Greek I read:
chanting never brought anyone home.
Par Avion
Did you see the sky on the twenty-third
green and black over itself tumbling
like a nest of snakes opened in hard light?
Enclosed: the telescope I promised.
Keep it dressed in its warm and red-lipped case.
Poems may follow. Yesterday I cleared
the well-house. The moving jaws of copperheads,
little heads lined up on a concrete floor,
laughing at the blood-spackled hoe,
at the whole miserable operetta,
reminded me of something Greek I read:
chanting never brought anyone home.