Three Inch Day of the Dead Musician No shoes, no shirt, flaked ribs and spine a threadbare tux, you grip your wire bow, stroke air, bone fiddle lost somewhere you stood propped. Grin unglued you died a second time: bits of a man no glue can fix. Ghost bones, ghost hat aslant, small inarticulate shadow on my desk, what are you that I mend not, nor forget? Joan Larkin Joan Larkin's most recent collections are Blue Hanuman and My Body: New and Selected Poems, both published by Hanging Loose Press. A longtime teacher and resident of Brooklyn, she now lives in southern Arizona. Her honours include the Shelley Memorial Award and the Academy of American Poets Fellowship. More at www.joanlarkin.com
1 Comment
3/23/2019 04:19:35 pm
love the intensity created by the spareness....
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The Ekphrastic Review
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April 2021
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