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Thomas Lux


Black Road Over Which Green Trees Grow

A tunnel but the roof is green and some light breaks through. There's lots of oxygen, no worms eat the leaves or your lungs. On this road have been coffins in hearses passing through—not parked or stalled. On this road: A wedding party, frien [...]

Voyeur Every Sense

Tadpole, it's not time yet to nag you about college (though I have some thoughts on that!), baseball (ditto), or abstract principles. Enjoy your delicious, soupy womb-warmth, do some rolls and saults (it'll be too crowded soon), delight in your [...]


If I mix a vegetable and moral metaphor then this pale, arrogant little leaf—its juices spare, its taste pinched and numbing—is equivalent to a rich child pulling legs off a bug, to a swaggering walk through a TB ward by a pulmonary giant. Not t [...]

The Enemy the Wind

Hand over hand and over the backs of some humans it comes, as it does now, from the south, south- east. It comes, beginning nowhere, and hauling all the expelled breaths of millions from nowhere, a foot or a thousand feet above the oceans, carry [...]

Spiders Wanting

I want you, spider: walker-on-the-ceiling, creeping black thumb. Here's my forehead, the pad for your landing. So slip down your rope, that purest advance of saliva, settle close enough to my lips. I'll know what you know, thank you, Exhort, tell [...]

Shaving the Graveyard

Spring 1992 | Poetry

The graveyard being what he called his face; even as a young man he called his face the graveyard—he talked like that, funny, odd things that scared me sometimes in our early years—I thought maybe he was a little touched (his Uncle Bob was certi [...]

Edgar Allan Poe Meets Sarah Hale

(AUTHOR OF "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB") One would assume a difference in temperments. Their introduction likely took place at a lit'ry salon, common in their day—Poe looking past her at the punchbowl—or possibly they met at the office of Godey's Lad [...]