Blood Soup, by Phil Boiarski
She called the white ducks with a soft
Clucking of her tongue and they came to
Her busy hands f...
Poems by Phil Boiarski
Rumination, by Phil Boiarski
Dirt into grass
Grass into milk
Milk into bone
Bone into dirt
Dirt into grass
Grass into mil...
Waking the Child, by Phil Boiarski
In the dream, walking August pasture:
Gold butterflies hover over wild mustard
Bees buzz pink...