Two Poems by Joseph Spece

[The sand—]

The sand—
lustreless, serene material.

And the red rock
can parry a sword—

the keenness of it;
the untenanting;

the Long-Past
is turning
Presents
aside.

It is bad luck to come here
It is lucky to come here
without a shirt & meet this
marvellous pastness

plumb,
unfinished,
ready to break the rock.

woodsman.

how can i help you question these years.

always ever getting on  , apertured,     the lizard
becoming the asp

and then the final metronomic,
drinking from a glacial stream.

all of it happens in too-specific ways for me

to lay my banner down              ,

to stop the whetting my ax because

I love you my absolutely
darling
patchwork
monstrous—

there
Me is,    dauntless—

still moreover these years,

labyrinth closing a hero in.

 

---

About the Author

Spece is the author of two books, BAD ZOO (FATHOM, 2018) and Roads (Cherry Grove, 2013). He is editor and publisher at FATHOMBOOKS.

Postscript

To Berfrois and to RB: In a contemporary literary scene built on averages and little cronyisms, you gave me friendship that was really writing-based; and you taxed yourself to understand. We go on together.

Post Image

Detail from LindaDee2006: Provincetown Dunes Shack, 2017 (CC)