I'm loving the variety of poems/books I'm reading for the Sealey Challenge, and the random coincidii. Last night thunder woke me up, and today it kept rolling through like tanks. In Deathbed Sext, I find battlefields and this: "To...be woken by thunder in the middle of the night..." (means "You'll Never Get Back To Sleep Now").Short Cuts. But here the boy lives and presumably grows up to be a poet.
There is serious stuff but also humor and wordplay, as in "Dickinsonian Pics": "I heard a phone buzz when I died. / Your sext lit up the larger darkness." And I love the "waltz[ing] away from what // once was monstrously male..." that threads in and out of these poems, summed up for me in the line: "I was sent to fetch a crescent wrench that wasn't even there." The futility, the performativity.
And I love this closing stanza (equal time to hens, after the roosterishness above) from "At the Farmstand During the Solar Eclipse":
Not even noon but the entire farm
is going dark, and every last hen,
from instinct, returning to the coop.
Book cover artist: Noela Kanecka (Isn't it wonderful?)
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