Friday, April 30, 2021

jim leftwich, poem

​ooze zone, a practice of
light & the struggles of
wind / maybe a dozen of
us, in a kind of makeshift
living room on the first
floor of our dorm, watching
the last helicopter leave
that rooftop in Saigon, we
disappeared we fern and
knife who the blue rose
was or is / coming down
from Bearwallow Gap on
Goose Creek Valley Road