Thanks to the good folks at Bat City Review for taking two of my poems. I've been slow-pokey about sending work out this past year. A couple of other poems should be out soon in CrossConnect, but that's about it.
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I don't know John Vincent's work, but this evening as I was sorting through a box of old files, I found this poem in an old issue (summer '98) of the Beloit Poetry Journal:
While I was chopping
there was plenty of shade . . .
emerge, dustballs at an estate sale,
their cries are baby cries.
I forgot its name,
but it's half-otter
half-human, calls from the forest
in the voice of someone you love,
someone you love in trouble.
Amid log smell
and saw leavings puffed to oyster crackers,
in the drizzle, I hear it still.
it'll lure you into the forest.
I mean: metaphorically.
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I've commandeered the dining table for the weekend, where Harry's chapbook is being assembled. Randy's loaned me his excellent paper cutter, for which I'm grateful, because it allows me to trim each folio precisely. Also his beading awl. I'm tying the books with a nice dark green fishing line--it has a slightly waxy texture and is easy to work with, threads smoothly through the needle and knots very neatly.
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Alec Hershman: The Egg Goes Under
1 week ago