[Ross Bleckner’s]
Entering that cold lit
Turret shell
Spiral,
The way sound follows
The hollow
Wind
To the inner ear,
Must be
Familiar
To all the damned
Who enter
Down
With sulfuric dead silence
Whitening out,
Up,
As each stands hushed
—Critics and
Lovers—
While all around them
Humming wings
Or urns.
Larry Bradley is a poet whose work has previously appeared in The New Republic, New York Times, The Paris Review, Poetry, Southwest Review and New England Review.
