Poems from Brian Foley's manuscript The Black Eye are featured this week at No Tell Motel
Here are some sections that struck me:
"your inside voice
assembled in hermeneutic smoke
brewed in cauldrons of steamships."
"I push like an unborn
from the inside until we both are outside, born again in boiling water
And weeping for our mothers."
If, like me, you like middle-career Charles Simic (when he was hungry and glinting) then I think you'll like these No Tell Foley poems, though the quotes above aren't so Simicy.