Wing of a Roller, 1512
Albrecht Durer
watercolor and gouache on vellum


A Call to Arms

or, Oms ...

Rise up! Rise Up! Young
Young, still so young
of many

That thought you'd be
some where/one
Bigger, Stronger, Faster more
Believable by Now ...

YOUr'e time has come
Ready, Go Steady
Bang away on your father's gun
all thoughts dreams he had
(wished) realized in you

Fight to re/claim
that that was never
that which never
really manifested itself

beyond an ancestor's grave


today The Room, tomorrow The Response

by Mark Strand

The Room

It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep,
the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open

and into his room the misfortunes come --
death by daybreak, death by nightfall,
their wooden wings bruising the air,
their shadows the spilled milk the world cries over.

There is a need for surprise endings;
the green field where cows burn like newsprint,
where the farmer sits and stares,
where nothing, when it happens, is never terrible enough.