Warren Falcon Poems
|322.||For All The Words Dished Up - Two For Emily Dickinson||12/19/2009|
|323.||Abandoned Train Station Near Grandmother's Grave||9/15/2010|
|324.||Poetry As Constellation||7/11/2010|
|325.||The Case For Love As Storm||10/6/2011|
|326.||That Salt Adheres||11/23/2011|
|327.||Exodus/Excursus After Folly - An Aging Poet Addresses Onewho Wanders In Mountains Remote||5/6/2011|
|328.||Ellipses For The Newly Dead Come To Ground||6/29/2018|
|329.||Brittle Goes The Bone||9/21/2011|
|330.||Ars Poetica Redux||12/16/2009|
Comments about Warren Falcon
Even from my front porch
the rusted sewing machine
yearns for golden thread.
The ground assumes its portent.
The good of the season remains in what is left behind.
It takes what lays down or is laid down upon it.
You'd think it a kind of king of accountants.
You'd sink down an addition of arithmetics,
heartbeats, breaths, footings found and lost,
all the unintended landings of a life.
You'd think it wouldn't stop.