I’m going to hop on this poem
let it move like a rhino
leather seat worn beyond years
eye of extinct planet
honk its horn contemporarily
tippity galumph.
Author Archives: Ray Greenblatt
To the Coast
No longer narrow lanes
twisting through green hills of trees
frilly ripple of stream,
but a sharp exhalation
loud exclamation
Survival
each footprint in the snow
is a stroke on the wall—
each move
contemplated
calibrated
painful to all joints—