Author: Staff

ALLAN PETERSON
I thought all life came from the alphabet

Published by Staff

You have my word on it hand on it /
a book a note a dying sun behind a cloud

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I had /
a love. A blue /
kite untwisting /
the sky.

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the news: yr dead, I look /
at the page, grow /
broken at the root

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Here they are the words fluttering in the mind

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so banal a demand it went unnoticed

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The week-before-last Ada asked Michael and I /
if we believed in God, a higher power, /

a whatever.

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Often what I want is impossible

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Glory exists along a continuum.

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My head was in the middle / of something.

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The building between the buildings. A child, / Graveyards.