The smoke goes up the way a rotting log goes out–away
Serpentine in air and not just light but hot
And heavy enough to come back down and dapple black
Amid the greens and wood the smoke is there to say:
I am the moment of oxygen and carbon
I have tasted of the choice and action
Plant to paper in which plant to flame
Cash crops made a life more bituminous
For a continent who found the middle
The harsh savoring smoke draws out
And the feet, the fish, the climb, the breath, and the brother draw in
Smoke (after Thoreau)
by Benjamin Ginzky
by Benjamin Ginzky
The Puppet Man
All this expertly gave a series of metamorphic impressions that the napkin was afraid, tortured, oceanic, calm, fleeing, and liberated.
In Arboreal Time, A Collection of Photographs of Me Standing in the Middle Of Nowhere
oh look, oxtail soup,
oh look, throng in corridor,
oh look, leagues of Sung Tongs pustule,
oh look, lake como play tide in a movie,
oh look, of all stripes pruning the hedges
oh look, throng in corridor,
oh look, leagues of Sung Tongs pustule,
oh look, lake como play tide in a movie,
oh look, of all stripes pruning the hedges
