The Snow Poems: First Snow, by Dave Brinks
5.5x7.25 inches, saddle stitched, 24 pages
A small number of print versions are still available.
Email for pricing and availability.
(pdf version coming soon)
From the text:
dream hands
if you have a piece of silver rocket hose
either by means of a map
or with a needle in it
you can walk right out of the scene
into the warm blue velvet
part of your life
light up a cigarette
peel yourself into an orange
and symphony an entire
language of snow
subzero globs of light
odd by the calm of an empty room
I stare dim religious
out the window with eyes
bigger than a houseplant
while serious godfeet
tramp new orleans into a watery
oblivion
everything is working
toward the rear of my heart
I’m counting prayers instead of sleep
subzero globs of light
are inches from my eyeballs
it’s more than a lack of sophistication
some of them are coming at me
wicked like details
in Brueghel’s Les Patineurs
the southern sky is full
of asking delicate questions
some nights I can take the weather
other nights I’m more afraid
of people than I am of roaches
they talk differently
it’s a beautiful first class headache
one of these days
I’ll figure out how to work
the giant wings that lay folded
in my hands
the page of the fortunate monkey
life moves on
sometimes without us
take green for instance
my equally naked heart
full of risks and no speech
I always want to know
where the trouble can come from
the gloom inherent
in spiny truths
it was nothing I had to do
the door was secretly open