A Bolero in Havana
A Busload of Banjo Players
All Gratitude Being Mine
Asleep
Dead Letter Drop
Holy Water
Ice Fishing
Narcissus Brings Me Flowers
Nocturne without Counterexample
Providence
Smoking Magnum, 1991
Summer, in My Early Twenties
There Are More Storm Clouds than What You See Outside Your Window
We Are V
What Barren Means
Smoking Magnum, 1991
Peter LaBerge
for Stacy Dillon
Cleveland, Tennessee: unmoving boy
and unrecovered gun. The silver
mouth of the .44, the chrome-plated
lip, the handle stained the color
of churchwood. 1991, down history’s throat
like a pill he might swallow to see
the beauty in girls. He fired
his lover’s name into the sky, stars
knocked out and strewn like teeth: one
beneath an end table, one behind
the bloodied couch. The unholy bullet
left his lover’s gun, knowing
it was to enter through the softness
of his cheek. Cleveland: no more
than a faceless boy and a body full of bone.
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Cleveland, Tennessee: unmoving boy
and unrecovered gun. The silver
mouth of the .44, the chrome-plated
lip, the handle stained the color
of churchwood. 1991, down history’s throat
like a pill he might swallow to see
the beauty in girls. He fired
his lover’s name into the sky, stars
knocked out and strewn like teeth: one
beneath an end table, one behind
the bloodied couch. The unholy bullet
left his lover’s gun, knowing
it was to enter through the softness
of his cheek. Cleveland: no more
than a faceless boy and a body full of bone.