FL-RocketBaby

by William Stafford Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand. But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable. Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous discards. Space for knickknacks, and for Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify. Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind that takes genius. Chasms in character. Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above a new grave. Pages you know exist but you can't find them. Someone's terribly inevitable life story, maybe mine.

Kenneth Roxroth The seasons revolve and the years change With no assistance or supervision. The moon, without taking thought, Moves in its cycle, full, crescent, and full. The white moon enters the heart of the river, The air is drugged with azalea blossoms; Deep in the night a pine cone falls; Our campfire dies in the empty mountains. The sharp stars flicker in the tremulous branches; The lake is black, bottomless in the crystalline night; High in the sky the Northern Crown Is cut in half by the dim summit of a snow peak. O heart, heart, so singularly Intransigent and corruptible, Here we lie entranced by the starlit water, A

by Don Marquis i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric light bulb and fry himself on the wires why do you fellows pull this stunt i asked him because it is the conventional thing for moths or why if that had been an uncovered candle instead of an electric light bulb you would now be a small unsightly cinder have you no sense plenty of it he answered but at times we get tired of using it we get bored with the routine and crave beauty and excitement fire is beautiful and we know that if we get too close it will kill us but what does that matter it is better to be happy for a mo