A POEM ABOUT A ’59 TRIUMPH TR3
Subject is to poetry what
plot is to fiction: gasoline,
to get started, to get around.
Yes. Then there
is the wind in your face, the roads humped
in the distant moonlight.
Dry leaves blowing everywhere.
* * *
THE RESPONSIBILITY OF COWS
The difficulty lies in moving to new pastures,
far from the muck of the crumbling barn
and the cliché of an old shade tree,
into the present tense of sun.
To find oneself in freshly-mown fields,
no longer in grass but in the odor of grass,
and not to chew on it forever.
—from Rattle #17, Summer 2002
Chris Kingsley: “I like taking long walks along the Hudson River with my dog, Milo, where we discuss future literary projects.”