by William Walsh
| Sure— I will read her poem but it hurts to the bone to find her here in such fine pages like the time I found her wrinkled in linenwith her teacher and I stoodover them the sleep-smell of sex how I wanted with a shoestring shut but instead about his wife until he woke down the street clutched like a stack It’s simply amazing are frightened sense of humor. of fog the night as strangely by this darkness my heart clothes obscures |
William Walsh has published five books: Speak So I Shall Know Thee: Interviews with Southern Writers, The Ordinary Life of a Sculptor, The Conscience of My Other Being, Under the Rock Umbrella: Contemporary American Poets from 1951-1977, and most recently David Bottoms: Critical Essays and Interviews (McFarland). His work has appeared in the AWP Chronicle, Five Points, the Flannery O’Connor Review, the James Dickey Review, The Kenyon Review, the Michigan Quarterly Review, the North American Review, Poets & Writers, Rattle, Shenandoah, the Valparaiso Review, and elsewhere. He is also a world-renowned photographer.
Causeway Lit 