Michael Rerick will begin PhD study at the
University of Cincinnati Fall 2006, leaving a two year stint at the UA
Poetry Center in Tucson, AZ. He hopes to start a reading series with a
funky name in Cincinnati with poet Kristi Maxwell. Poetry appears or is
forthcoming at Bathhouse, CakeTrain, Court Green,
Cue, Diagram, Fence, Nidus, No Tell Motel,
Shampoo, Tarpaulin Sky, Word for/Word, Words on
Walls, and others.
6 We have nothing to say. We keep talking: we, frightened deep thought of cold things machines. We work patiently away at our lives. We follow you from hotel to hotel. Our rendezvous makes us a little less who we are outside the world outside us. Our scalpels make dissected animals, newer and newer layers revealing sentence structures with wet, frightened letters. We make a transparent machine, make it make graphs easy to see through, make it put important us things into a number. We have not forgotten your names, and you move one move ahead, as calculated.
7
We hurricane and landslide, feel the wave
cheer our feet as we check-point across lines
from continent to continent, your arm
slipping from mine, the question of surprise
too quick to sign or signify the gaps,
nothing present of us left but notes:
Ro
meo
Ro
meo
Jul
iet
Jul
iet
11 “It’s the way you make me underwater suspicious. Not just breathablity but the muffled sound rings traveling out.” & they said the trees were acting squirrelly && it was always dusk at the park &&& the lake never made a noise I’m writing to remind you, little lark, not of Dostoyevsky’s little stories, or his little fits, but euphemisms. “I got every part of everything said but the last part. How post-post-modernist blink theory led to post-criticism of the outer part of the eye. I see.” Then it happened: they sat over bread crumbs.
© Michael Rerick 2006.
www.mipoesias.com © MiPOesias Magazine
2000-2006.
