Geoffrey Brock Poems

Floodlights have flared on behind and above
Where I sit in my public chair.
The lawn that had gradually darkened has brightened.
...

1. DELIRIUM, AFTER RIMBAUD

How many hours I kept
that vigil by your side—
...

It was so simple: you came back to me
And I was happy. Nothing seemed to matter
But that. That you had gone away from me
And lived for days with him—it didn't matter.
...

By the time I recalled that it is also
terrifying, we had gone too far into
the charmed woods to return. It was then
...

Let's get this straight: Charles Graner
is not America. America would never
hold a knife to his wife's throat, then say
when she woke that he was considering
...

If one takes
a walk on a clear sunny
day in middle April,
...

It hangs on its
stem like a plum
at the edge of a
darkening thicket.
...

We knew the rules and punishments:
three lashes for lack of diligence,
eight for disobeying mother
...

The four am cries
of my son worm
through the double
foam of earplugs
...

The screamer sleeps, inside.
The desert's wide awake:
the mouse, the rattlesnake.
I've come out here to hide,
...