Stigmata

by David Breeden

David Breeden says he writes “when no one is looking,” and no one has such sharp eyes. Searching for “Wittgenstein,” he finds enough, “Enough to say / there’s nothing here but a brisk wandering.” But what wandering. A black butterfly drawn to death in white paint becomes a moment “To turn away / Or stop the suffering,” and what happens in the moment “stains the paint / It stains the paper / It stains the day.” Anything but black and white, these poems are a brisk wandering attentive to the music “of language as we use it.” Unwilling to settle into comfortable assent, they do not turn away. “That old freak Emily / Dickinson had it right…,” and Breeden has been paying attention. “We all glow / For awhile,” but these poems burn. They leave a mark. And their fire sheds considerable light on “Enough and everything else.” Read them for the light. Read them for the music. Read them.—Steven Schroeder, Virtual Artists Collective

98 pages, Paperback