Cultural Society always has good work, but last night I was pinned.

Here is Steven Manuel with a poem I could sit with on clear nights until never comes.
Ticks are underused.

Untitled

a star
w /
tick
legs

but all
white

stuck
on the wall
of heaven

And here is another

"Whether a night-owl screaming"

Whether a night-owl screaming out
in regular intervals
or a train at either 3 a.m.
or 1 a.m. or some other time
scolding the night’s dark quiet

I lift my head and ear
to the window’s screen
and feel tight cold air
strain in, too, for a glimpse

I love the ramble of the first stanza that gives way to the clarity in the second. Also am taken by the image of cold air, peering.

Here is one from Shannon Tharp. This poem made me buy her book which is older, but I dont care.

An Edge

Patience now’s
a more substantive

shadow, as in
waves changing

in the dark. There’s
an echo here, the ghost

of which is something
like a voice that grows

as it’s eroded. What
remains is listening’s

trace, a struggle
for another pattern;

a growing into
need, want;

a process to not
remember. One

learns this ground
through flashes of

doubt — thought’s
only matter.