On my first reading of this poem, I felt disoriented by all the non sequiturs, all the disconnected images leaping here and there. But then I thought: isn’t this how my own attention works (or doesn’t work)? The poem skips in a breath from winter snow to the red line train to the speaker’s sins […]
from
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/goodletters/2018/01/poetry-friday-sometimes-permitted/
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