The Hollow Breviaries
The hollow breviaries inflate & deflate, like lungs. A lesion in the trees provides what music the poor can afford. Because this is a poem about the poor, what the poor can do for us. They can live in iron houses. They can thread the eye of the sun.
Lessons for Children
The eclipse’s error: silence, horses. I shattered the glass bell of history & with the shards carved a new face. You wouldn’t believe what medals the state tossed at the eclipse. It caught none but lurched slowly into the storm’s ripe grasp. Then we drank to our host, & to his beard. He is like the tzar, meaningless, made of music. He has scattered his apples across the soldiers’ table, he has known his blind bride.
Flesh In All Thy Gates
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?