← v7n1, Spring 2008
Poetry · Volume 7, Number 1

Herman Melville’s Book of Four Sentences

The snow fence could be seen

leaving a woman who’s eating cold noodles.

It’s not made of abandoned bee boxes

or, egotistically,

like a medieval famine in Japan.

Here, the Quaker whalers

are scaling a ladder

into the idealized heavens.

A ladder

made of fresh DNA of snow fence:

these pious hunters

are screaming and waving to their children:

they sigh and say, bye-bye:

their gums

bleeding like glaciers,

like the receding hairline of acacia

on Mt. Sinai . . .