Poem of the Day
Datura
By Kathleen Peirce
The flower pod, green-white, hand sized,
bloomed at night. As the dead increased,
the world of objects seemed more dense,
The flower pod, green-white, hand sized,
bloomed at night. As the dead increased,
the world of objects seemed more dense,
Within 電 a field poetics:
sky, rain, lightning over la milpa—
components in the symbol
I saw the crow first, on the shoulder turned
to mud, then its shadow, then the cage
of bone arcing up from the muck. January
The line, its sleek ark. Stow the creatures where the calendar
can’t snatch them. Coal is unreasonable in all its phases.
Into the open pearls, I was, at first, sure I’d read. The coasts of it,
You stow them to the rear of worship: bits of jagged iron,
candle nubs, miscellaneous gears and levers, each perfect
unto itself but useless apart from its fellows. The human
When a man threw his fist into a wall next to my eye
I said that was love, that love was rage.
I was in the habit of loving anyone who laid a cold hand
When I was five, my grandfather took me to the tomb
of King Suro, lifted me over the stone fences
and watched me slide down the mound over
is that we should begin in transit, in or near a vessel,
as we do here and then we leave this place and
the skittering quality that follows festive scene, song
Pop Imaginary
returns and ascending gray
A man in long shorts had a tiny dog
he tossed into the leaves piled at the edge
of people’s yards, the dog
While watching
a movie
with a lovely, unyielding,