The Witch’s Eye
—Oxford, Kent Maynard
By the kitchen window, /
squinting at an old slide, /
I glimpse my garden leaching white, /
copper sedum /
suddenly gone silver, /
dead hydrangeas levitating / ...
Category:More
Dear B,
Jennifer Militello
This black trance where I lie like a cat, these arrows living naked in the after of my hands. Such resonance tempers the dark. I fever with impossibility. I fiddle with the antithesis ...
Dear B,
Jennifer Militello
Two months of spasms and still I am not well. Awake is more knives than I can count. I was the one who shut the window. But all the dead flies had already come in. All I remember …
Raftery’s Buttons
Pete Mullineaux
Raftery, blind poet and fiddler /
negotiating the rough back roads /
of Galway-Mayo, stumbling /
over fallen trees, circumnavigating /
lethal drains and ruts, raging /
against rivals, the status quo / ...
A Piper Prepares
Pete Mullineaux
It’s almost like shooting up: a captivating ritual – /
the belt looped around the forearm; buckle /
notched, blowpipe joined to leather bag; a shard /
of cloth folded between elbow and rib for comfort – / ...
A Slow Start to the Set
Pete Mullineaux
All materials are alive – /
at least in the sense they /
have potential to make sound. / ...
Music of the Spheres
Pete Mullineaux
Hard to imagine a universe without sound – /
why else call it the Big Bang? /
From background noise to formal structure: /
Sibelius heard chords reverberating in a forest, / ...
Concertina
Pete Mullineaux
She shuffles it like a pack of cards, /
testing the silent breath in the pleats. /
With the air button pressed, fingers tease /
but the instrument stays mute – / ...
Requiem
Pete Mullineaux
The cows have gathered in an adjacent field, /
I can see their shapes in the moonlight – /
a meeting of the tribes, they are here in their multiplicity; / ...
Tonight’s the Night
Pete Mullineaux
I took Dad to see Neil Young; he wore his suit (Dad, that is – /
Neil Young wore a tie-dye shirt.) / ...