Ohhhh yeah it is.
More library porn. I’m not joking even a little bit; I would happily spend the rest of my life here.
8| Holy crap!
January 25, 2012
Custodian
Those soldiers of old, sepia
despite the light,
armed with hammer and sickle.
Mechanical creatures, all
rickety and roaring.
The pounding of smoke rising.
The graveyard of wood, green
seas of sustain.
Mists on the morning hang idly
Endlessly waving, as if
to say hello or farewell.
Cawing, a kind calling, for them.
-J.A. Stump
January 22, 2012
January 22, 2012
I Dreamed My Father Was Wading the River of Death
The moon was there—
languid cow eye.
The woodstove reeked
of dust and death
A windmill needed grease
and wind… was lonesome.
The garden, over-grown again
a spade forever rotten.
A shed that was once red
peeled and pleaded.
Split oaks were piled
waiting for their funeral fire.
My old man yelled—
his shadow laughed.
Somewhere a coyote dreamed
and padded the air.
-J.A. Stump
January 19, 2012
January 18, 2012
