Glasseye Raspberry


The plum house

holds a picture

inside itself.


An empty kimono

walks wearing

a mask of bone.


A snowflake

does battle

with a moose.


An apple

protects me

from certain death.

The Philosopher Savant

North of Oxford



Review by Stephen Page


In the first poem of the book the narrator, as a young boy, skips church and wanders the countryside, discovering new truths, learning he is able to think for himself, coming to his own conclusions about himself and the world, and finding out he is not bound by non-secular dogma. This is where the Philosopher Savant comes into being.

The book follows the remembrances, dreams, fears, evaluation, assessments, and vision of the Philosopher Savant. He is an average person, a father, a householder with a job—but he has a vagrant soul and the fugue vision of a shaman.

Larson writes in the veins of Whitman and Shakespeare. Some of his poems read as contemporized sonnets, and they have as much genius entwined as Shakespeare’s.  While reading the poems, I had a feeling of transcending my self, a oneness with the “all”. The thesis of…

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I wish I could show you the source of my amusement but I

can’t it was delivered in an ice box three hundred million years

ago and it has been there since anticipating time or the mind

that will discover time on the shores of some mossy

simultaneously existing/non-existing primordial earth It sits

there silent and square totally emotionless to the tiny grubs and

centipedes that crawl over its smooth porcelain skin Totally

inert but inside it is something that will outlast the shores and

water even the sun and myriad furry life forms that will bump

and crawl their way to the edge of their individual eternities It

is there denting the sand silent unmoved not feeling hunger

because hunger isn’t yet thought of nothing there to think it not

happy because happiness is still unboiled stagnant and cold as

unreal as the possessions and human bodies that will

someday give it birth


from The Dryland Fish, 2003