Monday, 15 August 2011

One Poem - Connor Stratman

Facsimile I
First it was history
then seismic
fingers in the ground
Now it’s electric books
and knitted clubs
How to posit a moment
and hold it still
or spit it like
our geography now determined
by spots of inky breath
Now what:
I don’t know
(nor act as knower)
The breath of godly love
            is speck of black
wrecked world of women
my other
            your disappearance
contained in cups
of cheapened water
            in the corresponding
                        holes of the sky
revise your meaning, please
film-firm surface
and insecured hands
I forget
to wonder
malicious steadiness

it’s your litany
that gets repeated
then thrown out
and wiped by the judge
The wince of begging:
acknowledged ownership
of the small scrap pile
they get something
like us luck struck
drawers of hall            ways

in the good minutes
after sunrise
wilted names lock
            on the walls
and call everything
something else
Connor Stratman is a writer currently living in Chicago. His work has appeared in journals such as The Toronto Quarterly, The Journal of Experimental Fiction, ditch, Leaf Garden, Pinstripe Fedora, Otoliths, Counterexample Poetics, Scythe, and Little Episodes, among others. He edits the online poetry journal The Balloon. He is the author of a chapbook, invisible entrances (erbacce-press, 2010) and a full-length book of poems, An Early Scratch (erbacce, 2011).

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