Gulf Coast Summer/Fall 2008


Broken moon, broken moon,

I had not noticed the tower. The people agree

the blue is all wrong, but its scaffolding

deserves their praise. You can hardly see

where the hair was let down. Our hero

arrives with a toolbox. What do you mean

his neck won?t hold up? Hand me a screw.

Hand me the wrench for the heart.


Gently, now, for we begin in earnest.

Gorgeous how things suspend: this peacock feather,

the bar to this cage, the clue that tells us

the cage has been opened. The stump from the gatepost

that once let us in. You can?t help but glimpse

the five minutes hence, the cumulus pilings,

the lean-to of gold. Be ever watchful for the rise

of the phoenix, for the slow descent of his son.

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