"There's a boy I know here who writes like a dream of Patroklos ... "

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John recommends these on line literary sites.

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Mr. Carle

John Carle

Homer at Fifteen, in Doc Martens

The city's constant rumble
drowns out her quieter readings now
so that we fade beneath traffic
on the stage. Not like it was
with Achilles and his obscene,
wide-mouthed howl. Back then
a man had to come close
to add notches to his shield,
but now the city believes only what it knows
and what it knows is the blood
of boys running in the gutters
of Five Points.

There's a boy I know here who writes
like a dream of Patroklos and although I hear now
that he tells about it from a safer distance, he once
got close enough to hear the clattering of spears, to see
the piercing of bellies, to imagine
the closing blindness.