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We’re getting published: EQPlog: Coming This Fall.

 

 

 

The Loaming

Behind the grumpy
Powder-blue rototiller,
Interned in dust and

Shriven by the bloody
Stations of Essex county biting flies
Across my shins,

Hangdog to its blistering
Handles, I level bone-jigging,
Snarling progress against

The fastness of buried roots,
Wheedled stones and
Disobedient hedgerows,

Working the lines at Bothways Farms,
A wind-whipped acreage running away
With the declining light.

Here turned up loam ensconces
Me, black with fertility, a touch,
A labor bordering on

The verbal, in a rot-
Pungent atmosphere both
Suggestive and inarticulate,

Where I can sweatily
Follow through the mental
Seed-death in these trenches

That will raise me up another season,
Baskets heavy with a harvest of words
Equal to the speechless.

#GrowCurator – A Word from Editor-in-Chief Aaron Belz

#GrowCurator – A Word from Editor-in-Chief Aaron Belz.

Brian Starts a Blog

Click and Read:

Weekly Jaunt | the stories of two lovers who hitchhike.

September, Inverness

Tomales Bay is flat blue in the Indian summer heat.
This is the time when hikers on Inverness Ridge
Stand on tiptoe to pick ripe huckleberries
That the deer can’t reach. This is the season of lulls—
Egrets hunting in the tidal shallows, a ribbon
Of sandpipers fluttering over mudflats, white,
Then not. A drift of mist wisping off the bay.
This is the moment when bliss is what you glimpse
From the corner of your eye, as you drive past
Running errands, and the wind comes up.
And the surface of the water glitters hard against it.

-Robert, Hass from Time and Materials

Public Books — Books On Books

Public Books — Books On Books.

Worth reading just for the writing.