How poor are the people in your poems?A Poem by h d e rushinthere's this place on the census form where it asks your race? did they mean i'm wondering, wandering out like objects do from circumstance did they mean the intervale bottom land, the business end of atoms and rain? perhaps tis the basis of all creation. I remember the farmer in "The Grapes of Wrath" kneeling to grasp a handful, handsful believing a fibrous ring encloses the inner pulpy nucleus of life. if you live and die on anything at all that thing (earth lets call it) permits safe passage, blistering between events, rest and water a waving over your head of the old testament intertextuality of time travel like dragging the dead from good advice to harvest; eventually you get to ride the old mule bareback until the torrent behind the tintype twists and fades.
© 2018 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on April 13, 2018Last Updated on April 13, 2018 Author
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