every stranger’s silk-vest entrance, shadow’s
are the stage flat hills, hinged gold and angel’s
combs in the whore’s hair who hasn’t yet
John M. Anderson teaches at Boston College and spends the summer holed up with his wife, the visual artist Kathrine Douthit, in a tiny dwelling near Cripple Creek, Colorado. They drive around the southwest, imagining. Anderson has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His manuscript of poems about art and the Iraq war era was a finalist for this year's May Swenson Prize.
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