Robin Blaser and David Farwell
photograph by Carol Reid
the friend passing through the bedroom, the forest, the sea,
the city, the brown grass, the mountain, the fountain, the
friendship could hear the dream-talk - the garble - the
language withholding the words - the non-sense catch at
what he cried out of
from envoi, Charms
From Jamie Reid's "homage to jack spicer" (pooka press, 2009):
ReplyDeleteThis poem shouldn't end this way,
but it does. The dead
know less than we do.