My father was one who best understood the shy verse of sawdust and steel.When he did speak, after aged bourbon by the charred pepper glow of campfire, his words would bring dryness to the dark, the way engine-oiled machine parts are ordered and arranged under the tongue. I listened. More than he knew. I saw how his words had shapes, how some of them circled through the air, […]
Tea House: Interviews, Commentary, Reviews, Poetry & Prose