Tim Barrus: In the Thick Dust Our Village, the One Convicts Scratched To Salt, and From It Corn Whiskey Trickles Down the Logging Road

The one thing we know is that the death of light has turned inside out, and the riverbed changed the diversion of sound, sight, and memory. Time itself was another Irish priest slipping beneath a little boat that carried the vaunted authority along in scant excess among the vultures because…