from WinteRed (Minneapolis)

John Colburn’s poem, “The Lawrence Welk Diaries,” looks like a play in four acts that you’d very much like to put on, but shouldn’t, because it’s more ecstatic to only half-envision a “wolf field” and easier to pretend “all I can think about it Yoko Ono” is a normal human emotion on the page. There, pronouncements and banter are free to braid into the lyric landscape that characters Michel Foucault, Eartha Kitt, Sam Shephard, and Lawrence Welk are desperate to describe. -Maggie Ginestra

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