I could love too much too much
whiskey. Better than I have loved
too much too much, but I love just
enough, or maybe a little more.
With six or seven water drops, rain
through wildfire smoke. Otherwise
neat, no otherwater otherwise.
Could love too much too much
smoky water in my wishkey.
I wish in the key of the water of life,
and love too much too much
living for water that is the whiskey
of it. It almost sounds too much like
tomb much. O poetry, O auditory typo,
homophonic errancy, rum dumb
death whiskey, water, fire, waterfire life.
Robert Wrigley
Robert Wrigley’s most recent book is The True Account of Myself as a Bird (Penguin, 2022).A collection of essays (mostly about poetry), Nemerov’s Door, was published by Tupelo Press in 2021.He lives in the woods of northern Idaho, with his wife, the writer Kim Barnes.
Latest posts by Robert Wrigley (see all)
- Whiskey of Life - September 22, 2022
- The Gap - May 24, 2022
- Camp Robber - May 24, 2022