Billy Clem: Autumn
Attending late flowers, I inhale low pressure. Four o’clocks trumpet their final purples and sumacs give a sudden red beat before they cut and bleed. Tall and brazen pink, surprise … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Spring in White
And the block’s crazy lady,
boarded up all winter with her bright, uncaged birds
singing, cawing, screaming like a Pride Parade
Billy Clem: About 40
This junk I’ve carried forty years On good days pees a single stream, But mostly just sticks to my thighs White as unseen fishes’ bellies. It’s all here for little … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Winter’s Manly Art
Those times in the clearing, a startling bald spot, like the one on his head, the crown men grow to hate, I tried to speak to him. Useless for work, … Continue reading