If you are shaking in anticipation; awaiting the arrival of a maverick set of poetry; hoping, here, now, for a full websites worth of new poems–then I apologize (I wanted my anti-climactic moment to be an anti-climax). I have for you one poem. One. Not, as the title may suggest, several “Letters” but a poem of many letters, different types, all together.
You should read on.
Letters From Glanmore
Vowels hang in the brass throats of wind chimes;
An open note. Strung together.
Tinker and verb; Earth-song.
I have said it before:
You cannot coax the wind.
Syllable’s break at the bending of their wires.
The letter L hooped into a tire
Is a fragile O crying cursive,
Until, upon itself it is shut in.
Break the bone of meaning
And the mantle crumples;
Constancy is formed inside the corners
Of valley and steeple.
The fractured spine of pitchfork
And choir ploughs the land.
The words break the ground—
Everlasting, the arms of language