Anything can happen. You know how Jupiter
Will mostly wait for clouds to gather head
Before he hurls the lightning? Well, just now
He galloped his thunder cart and his horses

Across a clear blue sky. It shook the earth
And the clogged underearth, the River Styx,
The winding streams, the Atlantic shore itself.
Anything can happen, the tallest towers

Be overturned, those in high places daunted,
Those overlooked regarded. Stropped-beak Fortune
Swoops, making the air gasp, tearing the crest off one,
Setting it down bleeding on the next.

Ground gives. The heaven's weight
Lifts up off Atlas like a kettle-lid.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
Telluric ash and fire-spores boil away.
from the book THE TRANSLATIONS OF SEAMUS HEANEY / Farrar, Straus and Giroux
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Color headshot of Michael Earl Craig
Emily Meier Interviews Poet Michael Earl Craig

"Do poetry and horseshoeing inform each other? Hmm….sometimes it feels more like each one is robbing from the other. When I’m fully devoted to the writing, then the shoeing suffers and vice versa. Farriery is a fascinating trade, and demanding both physically and mentally, so it gives poetry a good run for its money."

via HARBOR LIGHT NEWS
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Cover of Wet Sands
What Sparks Poetry:
J. Michael Martinez on Reading Prose


"'A small disunified theory' constellates from a lyrical response to Leslie Jamison's 'Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain' to a further diagnosis of late-stage capital's easy co-opting of raw moment's bodily musk spill, our meat's revolutionary intensities suddenly dimmed by the weight of brands, these 'names'."
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