P     o     e     t     r     y      . . .  

Poetry

Poetry

Poem half in the manner of Charles Wright #2

All things aspire to weightlessness

                            Some place beyond the lip of language

Some silence, some zone of grace

Between pickup truck and white paint

Sunday morning solitude

Body glitter and rebound

It’s the shape beneath the shape that summons us, the juice

That spreads the rose, the multifoliate spark

Not the fear of falling,

       the fear of falling forever,

amidst loose-lipped chroniclers   -shrieking white faced gibbons along the riverbank-

Poetry’s what’s left between the lines-

                            A strange speech and a hard language

It’s all in the unwritten; it’s all in the unsaid

Between the T and the silent...

                            Rain and drizzle, benchmark and barre

What didn’t happen, happened somewhere 

What’s just in reach is just in[comprehensible]

Are these the ends of things or beginnings?

Are we more or less ourselves once they’ve come and gone?

by Justin Olmanson

P     r     o     g     r     e     s     s     i     o     n 

read at your own risk...

discovered, lost and squandered

death

various people

prayers, hymns and questions

W H     o     m     e