Joel Sullivan

“MAN, GIFTED ABOVE HIS KIN Terrible in its beauty You have made, my God, this clawed, mawed world where even plants reach out with hooks and gape for prey. Bright, singing wings Bear beaks that snap in air, or fold to pounce and tear the cringing flesh below. One thousand fathoms down, cold in its dark domain, life stalks itself to feed on succulence of pain. Sucking the tender teat, Toothless and untaloned, man, gifted above his kin, refines the shape of fangs and rends the web of life with many-weaponed hand”
― John Allen Adams, I Walk Toward the Sound of My Days: Poems of John Allen Adams