Bruce Bond Biography

If you are going there by foot, prepare
to get wet. You are not you anymore.
You are a girl standing in a pool
of clouds as they catch fire in the distance.
...

Dear guitar, my Cyclops, my raft,
my drunken casket, my doll
without arms, my willow, my ink,
...

It's the lantern that we look to most,
there in the shape of a man with his dark hat
and radiant head, his arms cut short,
...

So many grains, so many little tombs
of dust. It keeps us humble: the deceased,
always slightly larger than their time,
larger than us, no less, just as a breeze
...

Lynchpin of the singing wheel,
you with the silver of your call
so tiny and, yes, unmusical
...