Comments about LisaAnn LoBasso
In Sugarloaf, in the center of 102
acres, her twenty-three inch body
watched trees grow, saw streams
flow below the earth, heard wet
sugar dripping from branches where
whispering birds shot from waterfall
A poem always has rape in it.
Molestation crawling from the walls.
Anger scrawled in a dark place, in a poem.
When she turned, I didn’t answer her gurgle.
Her white skin, pasting her body together,
tightened as she smiled.
And I smiled. What is this?
Everyone needs peace.
Yes, from the fear in a hollow place, ...