Time, Place, Action

Hey hey whaddya say sing the voices of the cheerleaders. Speak, lips red as coral. Tell us when the wolves will return to Iowa. Follow the river back to its …

Domaine

This wine exploding in the glass. My basket of purple. Red sonnet in my life. I can become French for a day. 12 Rue Jacob, Ste. Germaine des Pres. Receive …

Stay Tuned, Mr. Mann

The electorate has spoken. We will be governed. In the ballot, in the road. Here is the school, the church, the bright red convenience store. Meet under the sign, my …

Mr. Mann is Beloved of Fall

Of joy. Leaves. Sun- stilled air. Cut fields littered with geese. Squirrels work those pouches. A thousand songbirds obliterate the neighborhood. Lie down under a tree. Watch the shower of …

Dateline Livingston

Trains, trains. Stand on the spokes of the Roundhouse. Stand on the iron rungs of the world. Take your paints over to the Murray Hotel. Set up your easel there. …

Reading in Montana

Stephen Crane lies open on the table. Life is struggle, that is the given. It is also alive with glittering shards of color. Bloodreds, green and gold, the snow-froth at …

Nun

He compresses all the music he owns into a tiny device no thicker than a wafer. Now, as he freezes his ass off on a road outside Butte, he puts …

Mustang

He hears them cropping grass one night near the National Forest. Horses live two, three years in the wild. They are pre- historic. They don’t consort with fences. Montana grass …