Monday, January 02, 2012
Boston Review — Corina Copp: Poet’s Sampler
The roses kill her with no sign of stopping
effulgence. Vase optics from a looming in fact
out of scale. Milk-glass vase my glance fell on
swanned, for a dissolving optician owns
plexiglas in every light, maps without
exception areas of land where a horse runs
kind of looking for us, a sonata effulgent in
fact helps gardening if we want. We gaze at
vanishing, with nothing on I’ve never seen a
floor so verdure except in person. Picasso:
A miracle not to melt in the bathtub, like a
lump of sugar.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
A Letter From Hammertown
...to the person who dumped four
green bags of garbage
behind the pad of Edwardian aggregate
resting on a knob of slate
out of which which flapped
insect wing fern fossils
a prescription for child's ear medicine
full cost covered (thank you BC Med)
revealed your address:
(withheld)
but let's not go there anyway
don't use the pickup
but perform the perimeter slow
as an August afternoon sniffwalk
then follow that very crooked track
whither will it wandered surrounded
then build a fence at eye level
over which we can tip
whatever sad shit the blackberry
can beneath a half-decade
of thickening barbs chew
with green teeth or pick
cleaner with gleaner planks,
whatever the water table
can't (or won't) hold down--
fastened then driven then hid
with certain care a split lid
randomized by ravens & raccoons
flattened by rain braille rime tuned
melancholic generic cola root beer
box saw you sit & sip with your sore ear.
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