Sunset stripteasing mud,
ruts buttering what was a field of wildflowers,
honey with derelict whiskey breath oozing from broken figurines;
an oak tree bunions pulsing hangs over whats left to barter,
the sky still blue,
ATV odor the robe of the prophet.
Review by Mary Giudice
Is the “Darl” of the title the character from Faulker’s As I Lay Dying? I’m going to assume yes because I like the southern gothic direction it takes me. And indeed beauty and deterioration battle in this poem. “Ruts”, “mud”, and “bunions” share a small poetic bed with “sunset” and “honey”. The assonance of those short u sounds acts like a magic glue here! “Ruts buttering what was” is a great sonic moment. The prophet in the last line raises the stakes of this poem, sending me back to the beginning for another go-through.