from Mad, with Rust
[ 5 poems ]
a sling blade
kind of moon I
want it sharper
gallons to miles
the night train's
beautiful mouth
spent fields
men move slow
and smoke
every cicada
one tooth
of the saw
sudden heavy rain I bend the body through
______________________________________________
Old Pajamas, and the name may all be in lower case
just sent me a new book of short poems
from the last place I had an A & W Root Beer —
Drive-in, roll the window down, tray set on the window edge
somewhere on Cape Cod long ago
and Mad, with Rust arrived out of the blue
by land mail today, about the only item that still comes through
the land mail these days — besides one or two close friends
pecking away at letters and using a stamp — are handmade books
by poets who will always make homemade books. Few
are ever recognized, but oh get yourself famous and
boy o boy will they go looking for them. The rarest of the rare.
Old Pajamas seemed to hand stitch this one with care.
1 of 15 copies designed & handmade by Andra Sheinkopf
at Black Fig Press.
[ BA ]
