A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
One afternoon at a bus stop in Ruston, Louisiana we picked up a single passenger, a huge man in a dirty plaid shirt, grease-stained khakis, and unlaced boots covered in mud.
And now only his voice remains
as it cries through the needle scratch.
Across decades, that voice has entered
our voices: our style, our common despair.
Enter your email address to follow Vox Populi and receive new posts by email.
Join 11,622 other followers
Enter email address.
Blog at WordPress.com.