Driving By Lisa Russ Spaar

Driving By Lisa Russ Spaar Monastic firs, marginal,     conical, in brooding snoodsa finical sun unpacks, clerical in scarlet fringe of Interstate scrub.   Raw nerves.  The fields beyond?Dun bedsheets long abandoned. Where is the body in such transit?   Unclear.  But griefis ever resurrected.  Sick days in autumn, child on cot-raft,   chaste bedroom charywith red smell of measles, self, lone bed […]