The only connection I felt to the mills
was to the children of a generation of flayed men
on unemployment, the storefronts boarded…
Years ago the friend of a friend called me
A “Professional Irishman.” Fair enough.
i. You’d see them in the railyard, Coupled and waiting in line To be topped off with that cargo Tapped from the blast furnaces: Magma they’d freight nightly Along … Continue reading
White cups floating above the waters in their cut-glass vase, The tulips have finally opened, while beside her— Pittsburgh, winter—windows shimmer with freezing rain. It’s the morning after the … Continue reading