After Sylvia Plath The bushes are laden, draw my blood with their thorns. To find sweetness or at least some nourishment, Find sweetness before
—after Linda Gregg Rather than ride alone some nights we grip the same silver rail, at each stop the voice a proper Charon. Other
Five days from now, Bobby Rush will step down off a sweat-slick stage in Jackson & back— quietly as a porcupine ducking underground— into
durable and quick like the solar system, pads like planets rotating, leathered over years, slow tender fruits beyond the membrane, everything pink like the