Rarely does one see poems that seem to view death from an introspective and knowledgable position, but the poems of W. B. Keckler do just that. They analyze violence, suicide, reincarnation and eternity from the vantage of someone who seems to know; they speak on our last breaths as if the author is continually breathing him. You'll find these four poems satisfying and unsettling.
W. B. Keckler is a widely-published poet whose work has appeared in over 200 magazines in the U.S. and abroad, including Sulphur, Talisman, Washington Review, New Orleans Review, Osiris, Oasis, Ixnay, Antenym, Generator, The Bomb, Mass. Ave., Yefief, To, Five Fingers Review, Nexus, American Writing, Dirigible, Driver's Side Airbag, Columbia Poetry Review, First Intensity and many others.
Collections include Ants Dissolve in Moonlight from Fugue State Press and Recombinant Image Day from Broken Boulder Press. A manuscript, Sanskrit of the Body, has been shortlisted for the National Poetry Series three times in the last four years.
W. B.'s poetry has been anthologized in The Gertrude Stein Wards in Innovative American Poetry and The Art of Dance, among others. Fellowships awarded include The National Endowment for the Arts and The Pennsylvania Council on the Arts.
W. B.'s book reviews and critical pieces authored have appeared in such journals as American Book Review, Washington Review, and Small Press Review quite often. He has no e-mail address, but you can write to him through Unlikely Stories.
W. B.'s works here at Unlikely Stories are:
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