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A consideration of Boileryard Clarke followed swiftly by a reconsideration of Boileryard Clarke

Dayn Perry

Man named Boileryard, You have risen above things,But never shall you be aboveSlipping into the accent ofA tenement CatholicWho brawls over black bread,Who between bouts of daylight Wanders over the brick-strewn lotWhere the tobacconist’s burned down,Where the indigent defeated nowFuck like choleric … Continue reading A consideration of Boileryard Clarke followed swiftly by a reconsideration of Boileryard Clarke

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A poem about Max Scherzer’s 1926 funeral Mass in Chicago and a brief and unhelpful philosophical essay addressing why there’s such thing as a poem about the 1926 Chicago funeral Mass of Max Scherzer, who in reality is thankfully alive and well and was born in 1984

Dayn Perry

When we ponder death, we console ourselves with the knowledge that we weren’t around 40, 50, 80 years prior and were not then troubled by that prevailing oblivion. Why, then, should future oblivion bedevil us? The poet Philip Larkin, among … Continue reading A poem about Max Scherzer’s 1926 funeral Mass in Chicago and a brief and unhelpful philosophical essay addressing why there’s such thing as a poem about the 1926 Chicago funeral Mass of Max Scherzer, who in reality is thankfully alive and well and was born in 1984

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Willie McCovey can drive from here to anyplace else in no more than two hours and 48 minutes

Dayn Perry

Willie McCovey has long believed that the cartographers are blind to possibility. Their learned embroideries bring out the interstates, the arterial highways with the color of the northern cardinal in nesting season. The remainder they leave to less arresting hues. … Continue reading Willie McCovey can drive from here to anyplace else in no more than two hours and 48 minutes