Or like the old pain of a lie broken open suddenly
shattering the fixed order of a routine world;
into the rotten hollow of an oak tree poured
your heartbeat, everything sullenly
leaden, dropping fast, breathing slowly,
the full weight of it coming on only gradually,
the black stone held at arm's length barely
visible--an arm lifting you carefully
back onto the desolate sand at Horseneck beach.
Or like the sound of your husband's poetry
becoming more implausible and petty--
like shells crushed underfoot, a moldy peach.
Henry Gould
Proposing fiction
("plot or fate")
Proposing repetition
("I've been here before")
Proposing a space
("put them in a drawer")
Bric-a-brac
in the House of Language
Clues
or souvenirs?
Norman Finkelstein (Track)
As It Is
She is the one lying in bed.
He is the one lying in bed.
They are the ones that do
anything you tell then to.
His hand pressed hard against her mouth
until she stopped screaming--
it's funny how we both came
to this, that we had lost our charm.
Now I will make them sleep
a very deep sleep.
Was he dead? (this is the second dream).
Was it an accident? (this was the first dream).
The world is
as it is
I said. Human in almost
every abstract
the least of these being love
you
you are crying
Garrett Kalleberg
The last is the only complete poem, I think. It's hard to tell with Track. These probably aren't fair or representative samples, but I want to read Stubborn Grew. At six lines a week, I don't have time for the other 3.
