Carl Bowers Poems

We bend in the direction of the queen.
We make delight from their necessity;
What we call gift, they might cry robbery,
But they cry nothing; only labor on
...

All lights off, the D train stands for darkness.
Invisible, we somehow see ourselves:
As separate and yet as closely bound
As lovers in the sleep which follows passion,
...

I think that no one loves theology-
only lusts after it, imagining
that angels dance attendance on their words-
as if words could constrain the God of angels;
...