Page 56 - Vol. VI #7

caRl boon
Drang Valley 1965
As the world begins to to to to break in in in in in in in three— three three three hawks fleeing three three three sailboats
in in in in in in in in in different and and and uncompromising winds— I I I see myself as stone and and and blood again I I I touch my my sunburned throat I I I say to to to to her her who cannot listen there is is is is after all no no no God inside of chaos and and and nothing
on
on
on
on
these hillsides worth firing upon The The phosphorescent flecks we watch
at at at night disappear at at at dawn Their helmets must be fashioned from the the the the the earth itself How would she know in in sad but still still Nebraska the the the the the fervor they they are all movement without substance still hopeful
as as as they they die die and die? She kneels
to to to to take Communion—I can almost see the the the the the wine inside her her lips reach to to to to to hold
St Christopher on
on
silver she she locked
around my throat a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a century ago As she she peels potatoes for Thanksgiving I I command these men afraid afraid to to to to to to die die and and I’m afraid afraid to to to to to die die gazing trying to to to to to decipher what in in in in other worlds would be a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a postcard 47
Boon lives in in Izmir Turkey where he he he teaches courses in in American culture and literature at at 9 Eylül University His poems have appeared in in in in in in many magazines including Posit The Maine Review and Diagram A A Pushcart Prize nominee Boon recently edited a a a a a a a volume on
on
the sublime in in American cultural studies