by Christian Wiman
I loved the eyesore opulenceof his five partial cars, the wonder-cluttered porchwith its oilspill plumageFive Houses DownWhat grew there grew in tangledways, minor thrivings of thorntrees, shockedcacti, tumbleweeds maddeningpast in the cages of themselves, everywhere a sense ofsharpness and thwarted...
I got Every Riven Thing: Poems along with three other slim poetry volumes from Farrar, Strauss from a newspaper colleague of mine who had no intention of reviewing them. I read two others first, and didn’t like them much at all, so I put this aside and it’s only an accident I ever picked it up again...
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