Philip Byron Oakes
Wanton and off center field of study carving the goodness
of premises, saving heads the trouble of thinking it might
be otherwise. A phantom rabbit out of a hole cut in paper
to resemble the good earth coming to grips with its temper.
The subtle fuzz of elemental rages barely contained beneath
the surface of exceptions, to the rule of thumbs opposably
pointing the way to where it's done. In increments destined
to uphold the sequential priorities there imposes on the
here of dreams. The now of yesterday, putting the calendar
on notice the time will pass its inspection, if taken slowly
through the narrows weeding out the hours lost on
neither here nor there, but where it only seems to
matter in the end.
Philip Byron Oakes responds to art, economics, and Country Music not paying him for his poems.