Carver
by Wick Fields
Every night I'm revived
From the day's incursions
By the language of the dead
Because I'll tell you this
No army can march
Over Raymond Carver's mercy.
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See AllOh the flames Whipping wild at city gates In Rome and Beijing and Cleveland Frightening the old Half cold in their graves And surrounding the young Half hung by their age. Oh the flames Lapping low at
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by Wick Fields There is so much I'd like to tell you About the shape of this earth About the strength of your skull But the flames, they must be tended to. For as we are both keenly aware Their flicke
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