Rusty Morrison Poems
|2.||Please Advise Stop [I Was Dragging A Ladder Slowly Over Stones Stop]||6/9/2015|
|3.||History of sleep||12/11/2017|
|5.||in the flood||12/11/2017|
|6.||in the decision of a beginning ||12/11/2017|
|7.||please advise stop [I was dragging a ladder slowly over stones stop]||12/11/2017|
|8.||please advise stop [the rustle of a Sunday bundle of newspapers tucked under my father's arm stop]||12/11/2017|
|9.||please advise stop [my father's dying makes stairs of every line of text seeming neither to go up or down stop]||12/11/2017|
|10.||please advise stop [I might travel his death a creaking and swaying beneath me stop]||12/11/2017|
Comments about Rusty Morrison
Eggs, transparent and sometimes red-veined as insect wings, might be hidden
in bark crevices
or a scatter of tawny leaves.
The distance between one gestation and the next, a pleat of the dress I wear
as if I could sew myself another.
Practiced, my tendon-reflex where the tunnel narrows its halo
into a noose. I trust
dexterity as a kind of nourishment, as I believe my own
To own, beauty is the first lie of it, and brief
thistles turning silver in sunrise as if for my eyes ...