Poem by James MeetzeTHE LONG NOW 23 (DECKNAME)
Confidante in the cul-de-sac, I falter on occasion, like a leaky spigot of names not disguised not mine to say. I envision a star burns between us planetary as we are platonic ideal and plugged in on occasion to some portal that can never enough give back. The work of discovery means what found was covered green was field was mossy name whose body doesn’t show gravity’s gray pull in that gray area elephant gray in the room. Someone said I said, O and someone else believed it. All the graves are silent but for names and names are only seeming things are not brayed of tongue cut rough from stone not echoes inside a tree or glass not names renamed in the feedback loop. O Erato, I came a singer into song I strung my throat with gut and out of my voice, another said I when I meant you, but huh the meddle way the clock talks a story into me a wind in me a name. That we could learn what lies behind it. That we could invoke a wrath a welcome gloom over June. Clouds seeded with secrets condensed on occasion, break and loose that asterisk on the stat that rain came named at the table I did not elide or disguise it and you were not yet there. |
James Meetze [pronounced Metz] is the author of three books of poetry, including Phantom Hour and Dayglo, which was selected by Terrance Hayes as winner of the 2010 Sawtooth Poetry Prize, both published by Ahsahta Press. He is editor, with Simon Pettet, of Other Flowers: Uncollected Poems by James Schuyler (FSG, 2010). His work has also appeared in five chapbooks and numerous publications, including AGNI, A Public Space, American Letters & Commentary, The Rattling Wall, New American Writing, and Prelude among others. He lives in San Diego, California, where he teaches creative writing and film studies at Ashford University.
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