Updated: 22 hours ago
A twisted tree
from sapling green to creek-brown god,
nature's will has bent its back,
perversed its proper shape:
Roots that will not hold,
leaves that cannot bud,
encircled by the serpent snake --
a canker in the lifemilk's sap,
and in the viper's blood.
By Richard Mather From the tangle of its roots, To the nests in its hair The tree blazed white and blue. And the tree sang the Lord’s...
By Richard Mather The piling up of words into units, struc- tures, towers, is what might be termed the phallic unity of lang- uage. It...
By Richard Mather My roots are split & my bone-bare branches brittle. I degenerate in a cruciformed landscape. There are many like me....
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