Gillian Conoley


Gillian Conoley Poems

Best Poem of Gillian Conoley

It Was The Beginning Of Joy And The End Of Pain

The sewing machine had a sort of genius, high, oily and red

over that little hellion's pants. Joy and Pain crossing legs,

then coloring in the poverty—

Are we a blue, blue whine in the restive trees?

Are we under the imprecision?

The beginning endless, ending like chasing deer out of the yard,

sphere unto sphere it takes a loyal Enthusiast
to be
Death's mother. Stag on the meadow,

mare in the river,
unwinding green river wide rock for the resting.

The man and the woman liked to go there,
sprawled across

the warm...

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