Calibrate How happy am I to apply this brief kiss, or can I say, today I am a woman, perhaps clay, perhaps human. Rushing along the galaxy, this string bag of easy puzzles. To make matters worse, I’m happy. Calibrate: A veil of wet snow, a diffuse sun, there are the planks of the porch, […]
Ruth Stone
Ruth Stone: Black High Flung Patterns of Flocking Birds
Always on the Train Writing poems about writing poems is like rolling bales of hay in Texas. Nothing but the horizon to stop you. But consider the railroad’s edge of metal trash; bird perches, miles of telephone wires. What is so innocent as grazing cattle? If you think about it, it turns into words. Trash […]