Poemby Dorian Geisler I live among miracles, out of scale. Microbes are my shepherds. I will build for you a pastoral. I will put it on a slide. I am looking for spiders, like grandeur is a spider, like a thing can be put in another container like a love can be given to another person and remain the same. And somehow it can. Bed-of-Toyota-truck gardens, sold, full of mushrooms: the awe is such that it filters down, and spreads out. More beautiful than a meadow, that which makes a meadow grow, says Delilah, with a watering can: The problem with graveyards, says Gerard, is that we mark the graves. You are living in post-2009 America if love is too conceptual. Words. Juju tells me he works in a penitentiary. He says his hobby is watching birds. |