Joseph Bathanti

Let the holy man shear the sheep. Trust the blade. It conjures sleep, and drugs the ewe upon her knees, whets the rite of intimacy....

Late spring it sidles from the spermy loam lost for a spate among the dripping tares— wild flowers scroll strangled in dross and roam— sprouting bristly heads of purple hairs...

One year Marie gave up TV for Lent. If Jesus Christ could bear His cross, then kite on it three hours so we’d repent, sacrifice in return was merely right....

Veronica. Her name rolled off my tongue.Like water. For one moment my thirst ceased,her lovely apron over my eyes flungin the manner a disquieted beast...