Two Poems
Jon Cone

For It To Make Edge-wise in This Living Hatch a Difference That Is Worthy

What skirrs beyond | an eye-globe pitched
To where is kept brim | from the ricked oak tree
And I am too much sold | for these loud brunts:
Any single throng defaced |and gall-shod expended


I went hiking in the rain
because I had new boots that
shammed by brightly clean aspects.

I trudged in sucking mud
and the boots grew black-heavy and
sole-heavy, hieratic and more final.