The willows that enjoy the fall are those that sleep as a team of whippets sleep. They let wind like blood, make succulence a succinct thing. Intricate now, as vascular systems expertly flayed. These willows infer nothing from the slack fevers gathering about their root systems— feral drifts of grass, unmoored shadows of swans, dream-like […]
False moon. Puncture moon. Moon chewed blind while you’re coughing with night-tightened fingers. Perilous moon. Private moon. Graphic moon. Moon’s raw-cheese colors running down the chin and chest. Marigold moon fever-drunk and spilling spreads over your lap and down through the shoes. Cut-of-a-moon tear-shaped moon moon dyed and swelling but still only part money. Moon-whelp […]
Tom Thompson talks about reading his poems aloud to himself as he writes.
Tom Thompson talks about his favorite poem, “Ode to a Nightengale” by John Keats.