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Jim Culleny
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Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly, Asleep on the black trunk, Blowing like a leaf in green shadow. Down the ravine behind the empty house, The... Continue reading
Posted Apr 29, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
the other nils the hand in the mirror moved a fraction of a second before his own . his hand followed as if drawn to scratch his nose where the mirror hand already gave relief the mirror eye began to... Continue reading
Posted Apr 28, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
The Language Issue I place my hope on the water in this little boat of the language, the way a body might put an infant in a basket of intertwined iris leaves, its underside proofed with bitumen and pitch, then... Continue reading
Posted Apr 27, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
For My Father Gazing at the World After His Mother Died If I said anything, he’d stop, so I just let him be. Tell me, I wanted to ask, how to be parentless & alone & secretly in love with... Continue reading
Posted Apr 26, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Coffee The only precious thing I own, this little espresso cup. And in it a dark roast all the way from Honduras, Guatemala, Ethiopia where coffee was born in the 9th century getting goat herders high, spinning like dervishes, the... Continue reading
Posted Apr 25, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
. . . life which does not give the preference to any other life, of any previous period, which therefore prefers its own existence . . . ………………………………………………………… — Ortega y Gasset Walt Whitman at Bear Mountain Neither on horseback... Continue reading
Posted Apr 24, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
What Are Women Made Of ......There are many kinds of open. …………………………..—Audre Lorde We are all ventricle, spine, lung, larynx, and gut. Clavicle and nape, what lies forked in an open palm; we are follicle and temple. We are ankle,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 22, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Like You Like you I love love, life, the sweet smell of things, the sky-blue landscape of January days. And my blood boils up and I laugh through eyes that have known the buds of tears. I believe the world... Continue reading
Posted Apr 21, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Spring and All By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen patches of... Continue reading
Posted Apr 20, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
I Invite My Parents to a Dinner Party . In the invitation, I tell them for the seventeenth time (the fourth in writing), that I am gay. In the invitation, I include a picture of my boyfriend & write, You’ve... Continue reading
Posted Apr 19, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Sci-Fi There will be no edges, but curves. Clean lines pointing only forward. History, with its hard spine & dog-eared Corners, will be replaced with nuance, Just like the dinosaurs gave way To mounds and mounds of ice. Women will... Continue reading
Posted Apr 18, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
The Debt This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief, Sorrow without relief. Pay it I will to the end — Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release —... Continue reading
Posted Apr 17, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Then Out in the yard, my sister and I tore thread from century plants to braid into bracelets, ate chalky green bananas, threw coconuts onto the sidewalk to crack their hard, hairy skulls. The world had begun to happen, but... Continue reading
Posted Apr 15, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Bishop Tutu's Visit to the White House: 1984 I'm afraid for you a little, for your sense of shame, I feel you are accustomed to ordinary evil. Your assumption will be that disagreeing with your methods, he will nevertheless grasp... Continue reading
Posted Apr 14, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
In Broken Images He is quick, thinking in clear images; I am slow, thinking in broken images. He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images; I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images, Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance; Mistrusting... Continue reading
Posted Apr 13, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Shopping Alone Only For Myself at the Neighborhood Hy-Vee The young woman with the perfect banjo butt can't make up her mind: peaches or beans? With a full cart and her perfect postern she is blocking aisle 4, so I... Continue reading
Posted Apr 12, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Epiphany It happens not so much on schedule as at those moments when something with something else beautifully collides, Nelson taking the ball from Mitchell on a fast break, for example, then stopping suddenly short to break the school record... Continue reading
Posted Apr 10, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Always —for Charles Simic Always so late in the day In their rumpled clothes, sitting, Around a table lit by a single bulb, The great forgetters were hard at work. They tilted their heads to one side, closing their eyes.... Continue reading
Posted Apr 8, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Question Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep How will I ride What will I hunt Where can I go without my mount all eager and quick How... Continue reading
Posted Apr 7, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Elegy for a Dead Labrador Here there may be, in the midst of summer, a few days when suddenly it’s fall. Thrushes sing on a sharper note. The rocks stand determined out in the water. They know something. They’ve always... Continue reading
Posted Apr 6, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
. Here’s a brook in all its April energy. Up its steep and many-bouldered bank a profusion of nasturtiums scatter –“like bright syllables” a transcendentalist poet might say. Her eye would read that poem. She’d hear harmonies of rock and... Continue reading
Posted Apr 5, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Little by little, wean yourself. This is the gist of what I have to say. From an embryo, whose nourishment comes in the blood, move to an infant drinking milk, to a child on solid food, to a searcher after... Continue reading
Posted Apr 4, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Tracks Night, two o'clock: moonlight. The train has stopped in the middle of the plain. Distance bright points of a town twinkle cold on the horizon. As when someone has gone into a dream so far that he'll never remember... Continue reading
Posted Apr 3, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
Mr. Love —for my grandmother Miss Resnikoff You see, she explained, what is now called Love, was once named Zaslovsky. He lived over the delicatessen talked Yiddish in his hoarse voice, (the vocal cords strained from all those years of... Continue reading
Posted Apr 1, 2018 at 3quarksdaily
my dad asks, "how com black folk can't just write abut flowers?" bijan been dead 11 months & my blue margin reduced to arterial, there’s a party at my house, a house held by legislation vocabulary & trill. but hell,... Continue reading
Posted Mar 31, 2018 at 3quarksdaily