Jnana Hodson grew up in a suburb within the city limits. In August, Fowlpox Press published Harbor of Grace as a free downloadable chapbook of his prose poems. It is available here. He lives in Dover, New Hampshire, and blogs at Jnana’s Red Barn.
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Billowing
bicycle through a starburst, a sand peso portal of sage and thyme, say what you will of a Holy Family encrusted mosaic in the garden Goya, the invaders and their riverside forge, still glowing green Picasso imagining this woman by the sea stacked under awnings small round tables however crowded, however urbane cities that are not capitols where I keep alone and wary, recognizing Miro curvatures of diamond, crystal cups and glasses, tarnished bell roses, another bus passing babies or a slice of bread or a tomato, dripping oil strings of laundry in reactionary banners from wrought-iron balconies the solo cello lines lithesome as snakes Worlds Apart even after all our letters and late-night (early morning there) conversations I still speculate the distance of Buffalo to Seattle Los Angeles to Detroit Boston to Salt Lake San Diego to Fairbanks Miami to Newfoundland how an American converts the Mediterranean to one Interstate highway or another fifteen nations, with the Adriatic half-again the length of the five Great Lakes (an American Baltic?) the fish slippery as a crocodile on the landing you have to meet somewhere |