James Dickey

The New York Quarterly is an amazing, intelligent, crazy, creative, strange, and indispensable magazine.

— James Dickey

Drunk on the wind in my mouth,Wild to be wreckage forever.

— James Dickey

Dust fanned in scraped puffs from the earthOf veins, as he perfected his role.

— James Dickey

It was something like loveSelf to that great need.

— James Dickey

I saw for a blazing momentMan and beast in the round of their need.

— James Dickey

I have just come down from my father.Shed by a tinted window.

— James Dickey

With the plane nowhere and her body taking by the throatThat no one has ever been and lived through screaming without enough air.

— James Dickey

She is watching her country lose its evoked master shape watching it loseIts local lights single homes lamps on barn roofs.

— James Dickey

Here they are. The soft eyes open.Under their feet forever.

— James Dickey

These hunt, as they have doneMore deadly than they can believe.

— James Dickey

Those that are huntedAnd to feel no fear.

— James Dickey