NEAR THE COLD HOUSE GOING

For William Bronk

Spit of land, rain, wind, clouds: 

and the heavy bicycles we rode for twelve days

into the Atlantic. Distance, time,

bright vessels made from an obliquity of language,  

the cluttered space we prowled. 

On the bridge within the air above the ice in flame.

It’s time’s cut, you see, locked against intrusive light. 

*** 

This is a start of something. It needs an expanded form, an exploratory gist. 

LEAST by jon cone (Greying Ghost)

Below is the completed cover for my chapbook. It was designed and printed by Greying Ghost of Salem, MA. The Ghost is one of the finest small press publishers of poetry in the U.S. The catalog is honest, idiosyncratic, the result of a wide-ranging editorial intelligence. Of course, I'm biased in this regard; nevertheless, I believe it with every fiber in my being. Buy this item, or buy another if you prefer. You won't be disappointed. 

It costs only $7.00 (US). Here's the link to buy: 

http://www.greyingghost.com/least.html

Cheers, ~ J.