A Poem by Bruce Bond – The Awl

byMarkBibbins?

Editor

Geppettoin?

Hell

NotthevoicesofthedeadwoodIcarvedintoa?

child。

Nolieorlicenseoftheboy,myson,whowasnotmy?

son,

Iknow,thoughItalkedtohimasblocksofwoodtalkto?

me

abouttheirstrugglesandIlisten。

Sometimesyoufind?

yourself

inhell,well,justbecause。

You,thepuppetofyour?

story。

Ishouldknow,strandedinthebellyofthebig?

fish。

LastnightIdreamtamandiedonacrossandputthe?

wood

tosleepwhere,likeblood,itblossomed。

Itplayeditspart。

Afallen?

thing

thatleveragedabetterlife。

Yes,Ilovedawooden?

boy

whowas,likeme,afoolfortoys。

Imadehimshoes。

Igave?

him

thesweatofmyhammerbecause,alivetogether,wewere?

alone。

Whoistosayheisnotoutthere,approachingaslifeonce?

did。

Thisbrokenboatisgoingnowhere。

Thisoarhowever。

Itasks?

me,

arewerealyet,youandI。

Thisblade,thishandle,thistimeto?

carve。

Havewecrossedthedreamlesspart。

Tellme,faithturnedtrueand?

so

nolonger。

Tellme,stillblackairofdaythatmakesthecricket?

sing。

BruceBondistheauthoroffourteenbooksincludingfiveforthcoming:ImmanentDistance:PoetryandtheMetaphysicsoftheNearatHand(UniversityofMichiganPress),FortheLostCathedral(LSUPress),BlackAnthem(TampaReviewPrize,UniversityofTampaPress),Sacrum(FourWayBooks),andTheOtherSky(EtruscanPress)。

Presently,heisRegentsProfessoratUniversityofNorth?


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