Like a lark lift into moonlight. Like the muzzle
of a gun I should have raised. Like NPR.
Like the joyride in an elevator by two teens
with child. Like a child. Like whining. Like a flag
on a mailbox. Like a skateboard off a ramp. Like a
piano to the fourth floor. Like Armageddon. Like you like
someone, not light but deep, so deeply light descends
and when they are not in bed you can only sing to
the night, babe? Like a poem,
which is only a box.
Like a brass ring
When a plaster horse jumps.
Like the rapture.
Like a chapel’s ceiling.
Like the eyes of the dead.
Listen to David Tomas Martinez read “In Defense of Poetry Voice”
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