AFTER/LIFE
The roiling black-ink cloud
consumes the moon and sky,
and I was laying on the beach
once, high, watching the sea gulls
peck at scraps, and realized,
“They’d be eating my eyes out,
if I were dead!”
I guess we’re not so alone, after all…
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THE DEAD ARE THIEVES, TOO They’ll pick your pocket clean, like that Ozark you left by the river. How many times do I have to talk to you? ... -
CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
2 comments:
This is the first of Jon Sanborne's poems I've read, but by no means the last--they connected to me like a plug to a socket, and I read more and more and more of them, growing ever more amazed. They're magnificent.
The artwork of Andrew Kavanagh is sublime, pure and simple.
Thanks for da compliments!
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