Past fences the first sheepmen cast across the land, processions of cringing pitch or cedar posts pulling into the vanishing point like fretboards carrying barbed melodies, windharp narratives, songs of place, I'm thinking of the long cowboy ballads
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My Second Angel
Do you want to come in? Take a deep breath. The repo man is gone. All I had to do was show him My favorite gun And tell him about My conviction That a shame-faced galaxy Mutters a homily of return. The repo man will return With back-up So I promoted the orphan To vagabond. Why do you think they call it The chain of command? Writing out of fear— That razzle-dazzle Of shackles and manacles Makes angels cry, And, admit it, That’s what you wanted. My first angel came In a haze of Alice blue That emanated From a dulcimer she cradled But did not play. She did a little angel jig And turned away. I guess all angels are sad-eyed, Like you. Do you want to come in? Take a deep breath. Everything is about to happen.
The author of several collections of poetry, James Galvin's book Resurrection Update: Collected Poems 1975-1997 was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Award and the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize