When the panther came no belfrey rang alarums, no cleric spat his tea. When the panther came the sky and lawn were still. The panter came through forest, through field, up to the wall and my one blossoming cherry tree. I had constructed the world as it was and had pared the body from the customs of languor.
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|Landmark||Robert Frost Stone House Museum||Vermont|
|Poetry-Friendly Bookstore||The Grolier Poetry Book Shop||Massachusetts|
|Writing Program||University of Notre Dame Creative Writing Program||Indiana|
|Literary Magazine||Black Warrior Review||Alabama|
|Festival||New York Poetry Festival||New York|
|Conference||University of North Dakota Writers Conference||North Dakota|
|Conference||Litquake: San Francisco Literary Festival||California|
|Conference||Poets Forum||New York|
At the desk where the boy sat, he sees the Chicago River. It raises its hand. It asks if metaphor should burn. He says fire is the basis for all forms of the mouth. He asks, why did you fill the boy with your going? I didn't know a boy had been added to me, the river says. Would you have given him back if you
"Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly That I might eat again, and met thy sneers With deprecations, and thy blows with tears,— Aye, from thy glutted lash,