måndag 31 mars 2008

Andy Gricevich; poems


What’s everything?
Place contains it
falsely. Grey waves
on the colony
at Miletus
suggest embrace.
He turns
until pyramids
match their shadows,
draws them in
circles. Wants laws
like rising mist.
Against this, a river
to drink. He
and Solon
in the vast


Cleaning raw egg off a wood floor
won’t convince you that all is water. Thought’s
speed. Charging through everything,
incomparable. Slow down!
Too late. 720
moons in the sun
“which beams in Charles’ wain.”


A Rod of Amber: Why do you not spawn?

The Olive Speculator: Because I love children.

The Birth of Philosophy


elong / casual / ensouled / I / river / Ursa / or / Asia

minor / focus / the / samian / all / that / is / solid

a wave


Indwelling jargon parades
against clockwork, renews
a softer emergence . . . . etched
vs. mist

makes the world
louder by contrast

Cars distinguish
one another

takes precedence


sedate at this, but I want to fucking drive
a wedge


Form went inside,
so lost itself.

Neighbors of belief
begin to time

Out of ear
shot: leaks, rills
of news. Ends

of lines incur


To rescue
one another
including us

we have to tear away the metaphor
of depth

Time is as familiar
and uninhabitable as the bored ice

Riddled petals
Crawling housewife
at least noted

Shapes argue with the whole picture--every detail
sweats charm and grace, and it stinks--to you.

Park the form in what happens and the attentions.
"I have a dying person on the other end." That they
would cast each other's shadows and not parrot.
"I stitched his Senate shut."

Explosion of birds
from the roof when the car
door slams out of habit

Snout around for signs
of disbelief
blacked against desire.

Fuck spirit

Eight minutes 'til we fail to weep.

Screen holds twelve sec.

Just ego scriptor in the third thought place.

DECADIC NEWS (return policy)

Serial snow covers the absence of the last
as you return to a self you are
for the first time. In layers you flash
in the pan. Clay strains, unfortunate fractures
slow as the salt forming out then and there.

lined up around the block
not long since, too long
after sunset’s undertow
brought a story of some ardor
into perspective for “us”
and “your” children, waiting
to populate the song
when I have ceased to sing

PRISONER’S TONGUE (a camera caught it)
at one point the lead
said CUT IT OUT—not
with regard to the


emphasis on the damned.
Today’s purple blossom
—except this range

Value is exchanged for Event

why then should my self
not follow the materials
into the well of echoes

all floats. all floats

increasing rendition

arches of a toccata over
lapping the tin ear

fingers hardened to limbs
that once scored the shore

scoured clean of clinging noise
the drone of calculation
knuckled down

might have

nocturnes of passing true

around in the silence
softening this wreck

In order of appearance the guests ghosts
took on a radiance


veiny, swift
and time-consuming

things have accidents
often each other

“so go write some goddamn poems about next