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	<title>Wild Violet online literary magazine &#187; Henry Goldkamp</title>
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		<title>Against Black Riders from the Desert</title>
		<link>https://www.wildviolet.net/2017/12/23/against-black-riders/</link>
		<comments>https://www.wildviolet.net/2017/12/23/against-black-riders/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 23 Dec 2017 12:09:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Henry Goldkamp]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[alcohol]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[God]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sin]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wildviolet.net/?p=5486</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; after Stephen Crane&#8217;s &#8220;Black Riders Came from the Sea&#8221; A half-full phenomenon— endless russets of dirt horizoned &#38; drinking generous, bottomless blue. Godlings with shakers sing the chink&#160;&#38;&#160;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 [&#8230;]]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wildviolet.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/against-black-riders.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-5487" src="http://www.wildviolet.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/against-black-riders.jpg" alt="Old-fashioned cockail with superimposed words" width="525" height="263" /></a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>after Stephen Crane&#8217;s &#8220;Black Riders Came from the Sea&#8221;</em></p>
<p>A half-full phenomenon—<br />
endless russets of dirt<br />
horizoned &amp; drinking<br />
generous, bottomless blue.</p>
<p>Godlings with shakers sing<br />
the chink&nbsp;&amp;&nbsp;clink of hard wet ice.</p>
<p>This doleful infinity<br />
meant no harm.</p>
<p>It is only wight<br />
in your eyes, or blood<br />
from some tongue.</p>
<p>Our sadness wrings the mop<br />
-up of the cropless<br />
&amp; &nbsp;the cloudless.</p>
<p>Life is delicious, slow-cooked<br />
at 98° F. Wedged onto God’s rim—<br />
a lemon wheel coated<br />
in bitters, some garnish.</p>
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