return flight
in perpetual migration
like monstrous ravens
from some obscene myth
come the night planes
from the East to Dover
shrieking to alight
then gaining unholy silence
while to gape their ebon maws
to disgorge their crated cargo
no bands blare
no mothers fathers wives
no pretty girls attend
not a camera no reporters
thus are our sons
returned to us
1 | 2
Rafe Pilgrim, after "a life largely wasted on hard honest work," found himself a jungle of turkey oak, scrub pine and giant palmettos up a dirt road running east of Crystal River, Florida, which neither school busses nor the U.S. Postal Service dare (
more...)
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