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Jim Moore

Nov/Dec 2017

Not to Know How to Live

By Jim Moore

    All modesty is false modestywhen it comes to poems,     or to the silence in which poems begin    before they are words, when they are still daisies    at the foot of the dead […]

Nov/Dec 2017

So Be It

By Jim Moore

It If the neighbor’s roof is a shamble of broken tiles, so be it. If those tiles sit there for weeks. If no one does a thing about them. If […]

Nov/Dec 2017

I Call It Joy

By Jim Moore

this being unnoticed. Sitting like this    next to the stone lamb outside the Cathedral. My lost soul, which prefers the stone lamb    to the living God. Prefers these deep shadowsto the summer […]

Spring 1990

Mira

By Jim Moore

Mira in a black and white photograph, four days old, looks anxious, her eyes squinting, her forehead wrinkled as if trying to understand someone who is speaking too quietly, or […]