Featured Poet Bob Holman
All of it and all the time, Snake, you and your shedding. Try shedding your heart like you
did your skins. Understand the new color spectrum, sung to the strum of bees. Unspoken
word.
And that's what I'm waiting for, way back in the back of the bus, deep in the cavern of the
bus, the place you didn't even know was here, darkest blackest screamingest soundlessest
soullessest place you call Unspoken and that's where I am, that's where I'm coiled and
waiting, under that stinking seat, down under where the axles grind the road to bits, down
where there's dirt to pay, where the poem is prayer but you never learned to pray.
Bob Holman