Matthew Buchwald Biography

For twenty miles a lion followed her
Through the lonely desert
While she played on the mandolin, a sad song
And drank wine from a jar.
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Men are Homeric, women are ineffable.
Let Solomon or the bards hallow the woman,
Historians and heros shall judge the man,
The pathetic man, who wept, tearing out his hair,
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A cat runs away
It swallows the stars like a sacred charm,
It has always been old
Immune to the cold
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Daybreak found Mabee in the jungle,
Cutting his way through the rainforest,
Making for the foothills of the high country.
He paused, listening for the telltale sound
...

My head has become as soft as a tidal marsh,
The clammers cut into it, making slushy sounds,
Every day and every night they dig,
They squish like the valves of time.
...