the summer of the blood mystery
will run from conception to gunshot-
flensing the pines for turpentine
to paint the moon
a trick bag for every breath
to put us in touch with things too touchy to name
& will remain-
gunning down the last wild boar,
exhuming Catullus
& when the devil beats his wife
shakes down the black figs
in low-slung
daylight
©
's written work has appeared in Flagpole, Figdust, and The Owls. A psychotherapist and social justice advocate, he holds master's degrees from Naropa University and the Iowa Writers Workshop.
Jonathan currently resides in Asheville, North Carolina.
Railey’s poem “Song For My Father (1964)” also appears in this issue.
