Otherwiseafter Joanne Kyger I get people and the extractive industries confused. Everything from steel to Chinese bras. She says: My Lord take me to the voice and let it float. Float to the bottom and stay there. Surrounded by silent trees for months, The voice is deep, the eyes are closed. The smoky sunglasses are what take you. Past the fear of life's paucity, You might anticipate that patience, or crazy quilt would be the word. Where else can you be both beautiful and warm? White is white, it takes up space. Crumb-stained spicy salt between the pages. Thomas Devaney |