Matt Donovan

I’m the stick in the spokes, the concocted knuckle-rap, the punch line to the knock-knock joke you’ve heard many times before that’s only a blurted Moo. I’m the button-holer, the nope, a flung wrench, the reason nothing coheres. Remember long ago,watching on TV all those millions of balloons rise up over Cleveland in a rhapsodicpolka-dotted …

It’s not exactly going well, the berries so overripe they collapse into a jammy mess whenever I even touch them, and weeks ago the canes in this5 × 8 patch grew into a cramped scattershottangle I can barely push my way through. Once again I tried. Once again last spring I envisioned tied-back tidy rows, …