When I asked Robert Wynne to join me as co-editor of a new poetry anthology, his immediate response was When do we start? Only
I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. —IV, 5 The direct stare
Whose ears are hairy, wearing invisible headsets Issuing no voices, saw the pilots at the dash, On boarding, a mere huddle of umpires. Please
The border patrol came before We met. In that dream Of mud and naked concrete My old love and I dragged The body over