1122 VIEW STREET The building’s gone, but its shadow’s not, torn down, white adobe, and, behind the red door, a paved courtyard open at one end where past notice I at one time lived. Worn rugs, walls aslant, scaly acoustic tile and a window I’d not lock, ivy-draped to shroud a burglar’s light-fingered escape the […]
John Barton | LAST OF THE CATCHERS
LAST OF THE CATCHERS I’ve never caught sight of what they catch, boys Static as old men, old men less awkward Than boys, patient as herons, as lizards Wrists flicked quick as tongues, flies pierced and deployed The lines cast far and teased, cast far and teased What cold voids the hooks slip through, […]
John Barton | A GOOGLE MAPS VIEW OF THE HOUSE WHERE I GREW UP
A GOOGLE MAPS VIEW OF THE HOUSE WHERE I GREW UP Why must I see it from above, the time Lapse trapped in some undated spring I can’t Account for, the crabapples flaunting Flesh-toned blossoms in the backyard climbing Branch after retouched branch above unmown Grass past the roof, ambition noted, beds Impatient with […]