Sydney Lea: Hole
He says even in the joint they didn’t have no trouble
gettin product
and once when they couldn’t, why, a bunch of them
shot up whatever, fools
that they all was
Sydney Lea: Spring Poem in the Season of Corona
I’ve lived enough to expect odd snow-squalls, slapped
To anger by nasty winds. I predict more hours
In which we’re sealed in rooms foursquare and flat,
Where we’ll dream of the past…
Corona's Jaws: An Anthology of Poetry
Poems by Cynthia Atkins, Jose Alcantara, Judith Alexander Brice, Michael T. Young, Sydney Lea, Charlie Brice, John Samuel Tieman, and Adrian Rice.
Sydney Lea: Passing the Arts and Crafts Fair
There aren’t many like him anymore, the handy, soft-spoken old ones, who still know how to farm, how to raise up a house you can live in, how to still-hunt a whitetail.
Sydney Lea: To Sydney Lea, Whom I Found Online
You must get tired of requests from witless strange men to meet up.
Sydney Lea: I Was Thinking Of Beauty
I was thinking of beauty
as something that will return–here’s Curtis Porter’s sweet horn–
outlasting our disputations.
Sydney Lea: 2019
The gulls that once patrolled the Bay
of Naples, for instance, long since shifted
attention toward the city’s landfill
