By Rae Armantrout
Ok, we’ve rendered
the rendition
how often?
What were we trying
to get rid of?
We exposed the homeless
character of desire
to the weather.
Shall we talk
about the weather
worsening four times
faster than expected,
eight times,
until the joy
of pattern recognition
kicks in?
Until the crest
of the next ridge
is what remains
of division.
Source: Poetry (October 2019)
Poet Bio
More By This Poet
Twilight
Where there’s smoke
there are mirrors
and a dry ice machine,
industrial quality fans.
If I’ve learned anything
about the present moment
•
But who doesn’t
love a flame,
the way one leaps
into being
full-fledged,
then leans over
to chat
•
Already the light
is retrospective,
sourceless,
is losing itself
though the trees
are clearly limned.
Pinocchio
Strand. String.
In this dream,
the paths cross
and cross again.
They are spelling
a real boy
out of repetition.
•
Each one
is the one
real boy.
Each knows
he must be
wrong
about this, but
he can’t feel
how.
•
The fish
and the fisherman,
the pilot,
the princess,
the fireman and
the ones on fire.
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i love you to the moon &
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there & get ourselves a little
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with lots of moon veggies (so healthy), i mean
i was already moonlighting
as...
Self-Portrait with Sylvia Plath’s Braid
Some women make a pilgrimage to visit it
in the Indiana library charged to keep it safe.
I didn’t drive to it; I dreamed it, the thick braid
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My own hair was long for years.
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We've always been out looking for answers,
telling stories about ourselves,
searching for connection, choosing
to send out Stravinsky and whale song,
which, in translation, might very well be
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We launch satellites, probes, telescopes
unfolding like origami, navigating
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Rovers...
At the Equinox
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and,...
More Poems about Relationships
Her Dreams
Mommy always wanted
To be famous
She would have us (my sister and me)
Sing
In all the talent shows
But I could not carry the harmony
Then she had me
Sing
Alone
Though The Isley Brothers
Always won
Ronald’s sweet voice and Vernon
Doing “the Itch”
Sort of like Michael Jackson
Doing “the...
Native Title
my dead grandmother’s young
Japanese maple was uprooted stolen
last week scattered leaves crushed
under a stranger’s foot. to recover
...