American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry

Charles Wright

The words, like bees in a sweet ink, cluster and drone,
Indifferent, indelible,
A hum and a hum:
Back stairsteps to God, ropes to the glass eye:
Vineyard, informer, the chair, the throne.

Mojo and numberless, breaths
From the wet mountains and green mouths; rustlings,
Sure sleights of hand,
The news that arrives from nowhere:
Angel, omega, silence, silence …

— Charles Wright, from “Tattoos,” Bloodlines (Wesleyan University Press, 1975)

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