From the Poem Silo...
The Creek Bed
wash out mess of stones reds yellows oblong and sheltering
quivering in the panned stream, panned wan with whip-strikes
sanded by years of water, cool, seasonal
wash mints glint-sunned made redder
greener, bluer by ever-flowing water
a surface of Sturm und Drang dragged
by passing trunks and prospecting kids.
Pass the Corn
The Irish backbroke on canals
from which sprang farmhouses
where nary a potato was grown.
Uprising
little upsidedown roots
green, stud the barren earth, last year’s
bulbs sprying even themselves.
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