Hear
the poet read this work.
Joseph Lease Torn and Frayed I’m a singed ball gown;I ’m a limp
dollar bill.Summer light,summer light,
summer light: thunder over mist and hills,wind like both hands to touch your face—if
you run in the snow now, no, nothing here. She calls them
secrets. Sleeping under a bridge. My eyes turn to dead
roots. Midnight was a Warhol silkscreen. Someone like
me was burned alive just for being there; wind like both
hands to touch your face— warm rain washes oak branches we
spoke patience, river; we told the
truth,
we tried to —
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Return to Issue Two.
