Sueyeun Juliette Lee, Sara Veglahn, Eric Baus, Noah Eli Gordon
The Real Real Moon of Poetry Meets the New New Brutalism
It's just one more thing I have to do. Like framing the letters of the
alphabet. Or cutting a jigsaw puzzle by hand. I'd never guess that an
ordinary philosophy could flow backwards. The woman in the room above makes
her own corrections, as do the ladybugs their redundant vowels of
immutability"-- this red summer where red is a touched and tarnished thing.
Here, all the characters eat meat. You see what they are thinking based on
what someone else has said. And then lightning sparks the wood into fire. I
was reading about swords and how they're made. I was looking at portraits.
The woman in the one above, where the earth is a fanged and falling
perpetual sunset in pointillist fashion. So where does that leave the bees?
Maybe without any sex, which would explain the angry buzz. There's an
atmosphere of sound here that keeps keeping yourself from subtracting what
could remain simple. Her thoughts wander a surface made whole hours pass
past this earth of ours, asking, is there a warden in the garden, a leg of
lamb on the plate. I am trying to listen. I am trying to throw straight.
There are reasons for everything, and I know I am one. And inside where I
made a whole day vanish completely, I was graceful in my theft.