What Happens When You Cross Richard Wilbur With Ben Mirov?
I’m nervous and feel left out.
I take huge leaps to get to a garage
full of leicas, binoculars and jewelry.
I’ve taken on too much of everything.
The wind can only stay for a moment.
A cracked brain is sold for amulets of mistletoe.
I don’t know who sleeps, don’t know who
issues rebellious from the leaves.
Now beget together, strange leaves,
and a little black fist.
Now, something, blaze!
Release, O rawhide bowstring,
the stillest arrow. Tie a bandana
around my head.
seed texts: New and Collected poems by Richard Wilbur; Ghost Machine by Ben Mirov
art by anthony_cudahy