here first. until we are there.

an excerpt

There is only the idea of seeing. The body,
field-dumped, framed in grass and road side.
See her turn over, minotaur to the grain?
This is the poem getting up, coming through
black and white history, her two halves
tortured by memory, the same way love
goes on, if we remember. It is not
you looking through the peephole, but
the poem, posed for the show. See?
It is the poem who is eating you.

(from Cadaver as Readymade, Jay Snodgrass)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s