Read my latest flash, Venison, at 52|250.

My poem just recently published in The Smoking Poet crystallized around the sight of white sails against a red sunset sky (at the risk of sounding cliche, most red seems blood red to me these days, though there are varieties of blood) viewed from the Kirkland waterfront. I had been thinking about Adam Zagajewski‘s Try to Praise the Mutilated World (I think someone had posted it to their Facebook page). The image of the wound-mouth which is becoming something of a leitmotif in my work is ekphrastic in origin, an image-idea that has been haunting me thanks to the work of Francis Bacon and by Gilles Deleuze’s take on it.

An accident occurred somewhere in transmission or in the saving of the file and the breaks between stanzas were lost. I decided to leave it that way, however, as it emphasized the rushed flow of thought on thought, impression following hard upon impression.

Read No Private Shattered World now.

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