A poem by Sam Donsky, first place winner,
The College Alumni Society Prizes, 2006


Horoscopes for Horses

The holiday of not returning would have been holiday still.
It was a Logic Eclipse & then just logic. Stars filled with skies. Horoscopes for horses. The signs
were replaceable, the night was all but over but what wasn't? For a moment the truest thing
that had ever been executed was wink nod smile laugh wave, in that order,
& then it too was over. Everything mattered precisely. Try to find an angle
less precise than all over the place. We couldn't. Traveling on it was The Great Abstract:
Hello adolescence, Hello rough draft, Hello sex, Hello Latin, Hello lottery;
the cards, unshuffled, went; your freckles, aggressive, were. In travel
Place is operative, All, operated on. What we had the most of
was completely useless. It was New
York everywhere we were all-hearted. Or: Your mouth was a long weekend,
the vague sensation that made cherries taste sweeter. "On its own
eye contact is not very satisfying," you said with a wink, with limits, on its own as in
by itself, which was to say sufficient, contented, satisfied with the ceilings
of observation in half. One might observe constantly.
One might chase variation & variations of the next thing
until one is an endless -holic of those things, not melanc- or alco-, better than that,
spasms of stomach hurled deep into The Ha's, an infinityfer of laughs
that consider, truly, where they started, which is to say
as smiles & then nods, we are rewinding
remember, a wave now, not chrono-, not -holic, not logic eclipsed, we were without objective,
without an object in sight, language all over the place, returning you
anywhere, which was, to say, everything.