Poetry
Houston, Beth
Beth Houston The News Newspapers stack up outside the back door. pressed into one another by the weight of days piled on top, by the changing elements. The ink of advertisements bleeds into the...
...The ink of advertisements bleeds into the margins...
...The pile sinks, yet deepens...
...Underneath an unusual mold is growing...
...long before the boy scouts come for the haul...
...The wind pages characters of every type from the sagging depths of language...
...the black sentences run between the lines into a blur like whoried fingerprints smudged on the white paint" behind doorknobs...
...In alphabetical order, time recycles each leaf, once growing tush in a forest...
...The pages on top flap goodbye...
...Does anyone really know what's happening...
Vol. 116 • January 1989 • No. 2
