Poems of Eric Torgersen
|2.||After Gaetan Picon||3/27/2012|
|4.||An Apple from Walt Whitman||3/27/2012|
|6.||Case Studies: I||3/27/2012|
|10.||I've Come to be One who Cries||3/27/2012|
|14.||NO DANCER / STILL WALKING||3/27/2012|
|16.||Open Stage Poetry Reading||3/27/2012|
|19.||The Lone Ranger Rides Off||3/27/2012|
|20.||The Man who Broke up the Dinner Party Answers||3/27/2012|
I said I was hunting deer. I knew the trails, the split tracks and pellets of shit; circles
where they bedded down together. I faced a buck once, for almost ten minutes I think;
I moved first and it left me. I ran home to think.
I had a bow, target arrows, a target on straw. My father said be careful, and I was, but
I sneaked my bow and arrow to the woods. I surprised a tiny rabbit near a hole. It
froze. I had an arrow on it. I moved and it ran for the hole. I never shot.