A Tribute to Jon Thrower

Poems

“It was the heart all along, in the middle of you, keeping you
as if in some lifelong marching band you do not recall joining.”

“I do not know how to live.”

“Touchable, initially, like lamb, but ultimately harsh and cruel as it slams some tiny little door.”

“I pictured my grave. Boring and eventual, as a paper wrapper housing straws in the perverse heaven of a hallway’s blue recycling bin.”