By Edward Butscher

It is a quiet, noisy, injured thing

chained inside a forehead’s theatre,

streaming star performances of people

who can never be touched or trusted.


It is murder by degree and decree,

a Dutch or Russian uncle, predator wise,

Stalin’s problem-solving gulag slaughters,

as if death alone could annihilate death.


It is a furtive, infantile rage clenched

in a father’s quick fist like graveyard dirt

or hidden roll of coins, his wife listening

to a cold radio for plots against their son


Poet, critic, and literary biographer, Edward Butscher resides with his wife, Paula Trachtman, in Greenport, Long Island. His poetry and essays have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies since 1976. Collections of his poetry include Poems About SilenceAmagansett Cycle, and Child in the House. His biography Sylvia Path: Method and Madness, was the first of that poet, and Conrad Aiken: Poet of White Horse Vale won the Melville Kane Award from the Poetry Society of America.

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