Conditions, July 4

Cover of Planet of the and dog....

All these poets writing of poetry
Like peacocks thinking only of their tails
Meanwhile the blazing sun
The road ahead


Stray cat follows me home
Leaves whisper
Although I live far inland
There’s the green chill of the sea


Mother, if I could call you back
I’d ask, as I failed to do
When you were with us,
Who hurt you so?



I am sad like summer sun
No name for it
Bone words unwrit

My wholly
Imagined shrink—Doctor
Sigmoid Fraud—
Have a good



I see my hands
As attached
To an old man
Who isn’t me



A dream of teeth—I woke chewing a rope—a French knot from the Commune, a vicious thing, braided with vengeance. Stars at the window, topiary gardens far off. If only I could escape my bonds. My dear life, my stubborn jaws and the hourglass just out of reach. “Oh,” I cried, “what apparatus of report have we here?” A mouse in the wall was chewing too. Yes forest to foothills I heard—every live thing making it by means of teeth. In such a world there is no will to charm. There’s only the white and blue moon, and hunger incessant, valorous, gnawing at history.


Down river a fox hunts for mice
July is life itself
And defies occupation

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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