Short Works for the Peripatetic Web Surfer
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by Allan Peterson
Some trees have rubbed themselves raw
from each other
Like us both will die from such loving
but that takes years
Meanwhile we are doing the ordinary
looking for horse mint
for architectural detail for bodies of dog flies
smashed with my hat
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by Allan Peterson
Of all things water needs least, is proof
yet here is a morning grey as if awakened in masonry
my once vivid dreams now piled aside rusting
buttes and mesas the picturesque textbooks of waterwear
as when in my writing paper covers rock
There is a dog deep in the yard with its heart still in it
and yesterday [...]
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by Allan Peterson
I do not like the step ladder
Not for the frightening heights
but sorrow has a heat that rises
and each rung echoes the stifling
silent strata of lost lives
Below sorrow it is so cold
and distant it might be Michigan
where for three months it hurts to talk
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