This is the second book in the Montana Poets Series #3,

edited by Craig Czury.

Zan Bockes climbs through the dark passages

to reveal the details of the light and also the shadow.

Her work, her mind and her wit are sharp and dangerous.

One must be fearless to endure incarcerations

and stigma and the psychiatric juggernaut and for that,

in her ecstasy of the word, she is truly heroic.

They should name a hurricane for this poet.

                          Sheryl Noethe, Poet Laureate Emerita—Montana,

                          Author of Grey Dog Big Sky and As Is


“The world is a sum of little places in little pockets of time.currency of our attention is never squandered or lost as we gather what makes us whole."says the coda to one of the fine poems in Zan Bockes' second collection Alibi for Stolen Light. From Dachau to Guam, in refined villanelles and in cascading prose poems, from winter street walks to the aftershocks in the locked wards of her memory, Bockes beckons readers toward realizations about their own lives, their own world sum. Poem after poem sets doors ajar onto those little places, and tracing the careful movements of this poet, we begin to gather what makes us whole.

                            Phil Condon, author of Clay Center and Montana Surround

Bockes is no one-trick poet. Alibi for Stolen Light is a collection of masterful and musical formal and free verse interspersed with prose poems that usher us through the sweet and haunting storms of a wounded life. Smart, lyrical, humorous, and horrific, these authentically personal poems testify to the strength and vision of the human spirit . . . given that “Love and hate occupy the same part of the body . . . “ and“The motive remains unclear.”

                           Mark Gibbons, author of

                           The Imitation Blues and Forgotten Dreams

From the book:

For the Lost

You’ve been turning right

at every corner; the sooty night

tangles your hair. If the moon were out

you’d be making wishes, but doubt

strings lines across your eyes,

makes neon signs a disguise

for gold. The wind is so cold it cuts

like dry ice wires, struts

and whips the newspapers down

the street in rolling stampede. You drown

your teeth in Old Crow, bite

the sorrow on your tongue in two, tight

as a clenching fist. St. Anthony knows

your lyric rambles, knows the wind owes

you money. The empty streets are long

tonight; this wind, a bitter song.


is a 92 page hand-stitched paperbook  with spine - $16.00

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