Best Poem of D W Stojek

The Grotesque Persevere In Their Art Of Crafting Rainbows
How many have awed at that spectacle! The sheer majesty
that are the cliffs of Elysium! The ragged wall that feeds
upon the sky, the foam-rabid ocean that laps the asbestos
break of beach. Possessed of a tranquility so rare, none
blinks nor breathes; the only disturbance arrives in the . . .
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Minton Street.
You oil the angels, when it’s the god that squeaks. a trilling finch
bourbon sweet with crutching yew twig and bur-rose sprig. a clay pipe
in the ventricle of a chamberless valentine bleeds a blue tourniquet of scarves… satchels a’ pecan kittened with bromide; each step, entry on, is soft shoe. the windows wake to orchid lacqu . . .
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