Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
I hear the horses of desire
go right to the surgeon.
Take me home and give
my poor spittle a drinking-house
where I pull down gates and portcullises:
alum to my mouth, plaster to my chin.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 9 February 1659/60.
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. Here’s a bio. All of my writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For attribution in printed material, my name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact me for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
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