Reading Rita Dove at Sunrise

Pacing, as a hummingbird spins her wings and tiny frame, not frantic, but gracefully as Paavo Oso and his art, staring impassive to his muse, what shall ruminating speak this time?                                                             Seven A.M. The canvas still clean. Once upon a timeโ€ฆ he felt the lascivious rage within his rags, threads reaching to the sky…

Updated Poem

Upon the Cusp of Blacknessโ€™ Ride John Gregory Evans ยฉ 5/9/2020 12:01:04 PM Upon the cusp of blackness, we stare, I see a hope clinging to the everywhere, religiosity is an interior pull of white corpses walking, without purpose but to be saved through the mechanized wheel of traveldom, your misfortune, where dead bodies aspire…