BOOK REVIEW David Rigsbee reviews Never-Ending Birds by David Baker
Brian Wallace was born in New York City during a heat wave. Currently in Chicago, he writes gallery reviews and art criticism for Lumpen magazine and is working on a book of very short stories.
The Camp Room
This bed is not mine, I did not read these books or tear the hole in the ceiling.
But I did break a glass, this is really my blood and the sun strains my eyes.
The broken bottom rolls on the pitch of slanted tiles,
The whole room hangs.
As if gravity were about to detach it
send it crashing—crack it open—spill
its contents all over the lawn;
most of which, except for all the clothes,
are not mine.
Shedding a random trail of crumbs
of stolen pint glasses
of ashes.
There are people here; blueberries, birthday parties
and mournful accordions.
There are canyon trails that lead to secret lakes—a dead snake in the road,
a brilliant white dome, a golden spire and fumbled attempts at chivalry,
Brian Wallace was born in New York City during a heat wave. Currently in Chicago, he writes gallery reviews and art criticism for Lumpen magazine and is working on a book of very short stories.