In the ragged brush by a footpath
we heard a big beast breathe.
We stopped. Nothing stirred in the brush.
Now what? hissed a friend. What now?
We wouldn’t run. Why?
We were circumscribed by an island.
Then what? hissed the friend. What then?
We’d walk. We’d work and wait—with weapons—
while that big beast breathed.
.
Writings by Thomas Radwick. Mostly poetry and lyrics. t_radwick@yahoo.com
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Crack in the Ceiling
Poetry by Thomas Radwick
Blog Archive
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2008
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February
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- A Blues for After the Orgy
- Moonshine
- Flashes
- Bob Dylan's Angel
- Now We Sneer Ourselves to Sleep
- The Legend of "Cope With Cops"
- Mega Go
- The People Versus Me
- From "The Last Testament of Melvin O’Toole"
- Laugh Like a Hiss of Gas
- I Could Still Play
- News from Pluto
- A Crack in the Ceiling
- Onion Sermon
- Nomad's Land
- What Then?
- Flag of a Man
- Hummm
- Fear in a Coffee Mug
- San Francisco
- Glimpse of Grace
- Let It Begin Again
- "Success"
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February
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