|
||||||
|
||||||
Out on the Balcony near the bushes. An odd bliss that looks like litter. we'll both leave in the morning. It's an old and girls on every arm of it. And I don't believe but hanging at the noose end of things. there's nothing left but a sister in Jersey. of warmth tonight as he coughs and lights like a sigh as coatless blondes go by and promising as if its July's stars out there The Gift You know when there's something wrong. like a storm dripping from the eaves. And you searched until you found something beneath that chair after meeting a bobcat with one ear. And you carried her for weeks into stealth. Because all along the vet said, sure, into those woods after leaving Brent Pallas has been in New England Review, Poetry, and The Southern Review. In 2007 and 2011, he was a finalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry given by Nimrod International Journal. contact |
Copyright 2River. Please do not use or reproduce without permission. |