David Huebert

  We share an apple on the point. I carve Swiss Army slices while angry waves gnaw the shore.   Wedges pinched between thumb and blade. She munches idly, toeing spiders in the sand.   The breeze holds all the rage of the Atlantic. Traces of gunpowder flare my history-tickled nostrils.   Beside us children in period dress chase…

  Sadness of all life, life of all sadness — pouring death into fourteen lines, you poured it well, smooth and steady, twisting just so to catch the drip.   But I pity your ecstatic butterfly — clutched in the grip of some poetic hiccough, arrested flutter of the diaphragm.   I pity your fountain…

  Black Rock Beach   A thousand angry horses foaming at the mouth.   Behind them is a haven: the stretching disc   where grey Atlantic sea meets grey Atlantic sky.   Elysium.   The beasts reject this refuge choosing, instead, to face   the obstinate rocks. One by one, spines twist   and recoil —…