Against Black Riders from the Desert
after Stephen Crane’s “Black Riders Came from the Sea” A half-full phenomenon— endless russets of dirt horizoned & drinking generous, bottomless blue. Godlings with shakers sing the chink & clink of hard wet ice. This doleful infinity meant no harm. It is only wight in your eyes, or blood from some tongue. Our sadness wrings the mop -up of the cropless & the cloudless. Life is delicious, slow-cooked at 98° F. Wedged onto God’s rim— a lemon wheel coated in bitters, some...
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