Three Po­ems

Prairie Fire - - TABLE OF CONTENTS -

o’con­nell, not to be for­got­ten, in his em­po­rium

of sweets, whisky, beau­ti­ful phrases, and any

num­ber of sun­dries, shop­ping bag, gui­tar and

the first poem, I could rum­mage there for a year,

but he did not give me the year, a post­pone­ment,

he was build­ing a case, with his stella, tun­ing his

strings to­ward an end, ris­ing from the ta­ble,

where he had gam­bled his blood and health, col­lect­ing

po­ems like war medals, ris­ing to his feet, speak­ing

slow, and slowly clear­ing the haze, un­til we couldn’t see.

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