Lewis LaCook
from The Sky
11.Jean Cocteau likes grapes. Likes
the thought of grapes, their
form in his mind somehow
congruent withsalves, or the slavish
poetics he tallies: sacs;blooming along the trellis
in leprous overabundance.
There are no grapes in Northeast
Ohio, at least notlast night, when walking the length
of Cooper Foster Park Road,
Sheffield to Lorain, I
saw a deer staring through livemists of an empty field. It was
right across the street from wheremy father’s buried. A road there
can veer off into these stoned
histories, and Jean can’t.
