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Bone Species
Soon, dawn will snap out birds from eaves of these iced buildings, Here, look at this box of dominoes from China (I arrange them as I wait). Yellowed teeth, a century's nicotine and tea. So this page is yours, though you do not enter; only the pleasure of touching cold bone. Feeling dawn slide overhead, these isig-feora, "icy-feathered ones"
where you are reborn (even slain claws that snarl live-eyed-coinage
Love hunts
For Possum Tjapaltjarri
Are you afraid our stories Conscious stripes. Blue waterhole at dusk. Darkening and birds are running Moon copper red pigment The edge is often traveled. Blue waterhole at dusk. Mnemonic mountains of me collapse. I hope you can watch. |
W.B. Keckler's Sanskrit of the Body won in the National Poetry Series 2002 and will be published by Viking-Penguin (May 2003). He is also a playwright who often writes in the Grand Guignol tradition. A recent issue of A.bacus was dedicated to his poetry, and work has appeared recently or is forthcoming in The Hat, Ur*Vox, Fence, Yefief and many other journals. He is always happy to hear from other poets, writers and numinous beings.
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| Copyright © 2003 by W.B. Keckler all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. Copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that the editors are notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author |