Saturday, September 11, 2021



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 ]