Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Darling we've crept through the bluegrass

Little odd love poem. I think of railroad tracks and rusty water towers:



Darling, we've crept through the bluegrass & we've slipped in the waste slurry, we dug breakfast out of dumpsters & we stole fourteen-hundred dollars from the Grace Street Laundromat. I think it's time we made a child, the way we make starlight out of a bent & pin-pocked Coke can.

Mathias Svalina
Fence magazine 2006


Voices. I hear them.
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I like the frivolity of this one. The long blank spaces suggest a youthful, breathless excitement over love. This poem was included in an is...

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