As a hoodoo-voodoo, get-you-back-to-me tool, …
Robert Wrigley
Because I have come to the fence at night, …
Lucy Doolin, first day on the job, stroked his goatee …
Spring, and the first full crop of dandelions gone …
You want a piece of me …
Under dust plush as a moth’s wing, …
About the only thing I thought I knew …
Of the two spoiled, barn-sour geldings …
More oblique the eagle’s angle …
Called out of dream by the pitch and screech, …
Sleepy and suburban at dusk, …
The birdhouse made from a gourd is wired …