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It Was Late and
Deep in Snow
You
left, like handedness or a shoe.
In the
Neighborhood - Infinite Distances
A
bee - against my window - inside - this time - this time -
Meek Epic
Two
separate indentations on a bedcover.
Dark streets harvesting light rain.
Dumb skin.
Snowdrifts uncurled in spring's arms.
A half-kiss, a ki-.
Trees inconsistently.
Black and
White, and the Grey Gray Thing
We were two to a tee, yea, we were woe.
Needed an inordinate amount of mint in it, or else the status was
staleness. Trusted tenses, though they’d trussed us. And hoped what
one’d done’d add up to elation, earned. Aligned by better ends’ means.
Meantime, meanness. The thickest thickset
thickets. Out of the woodwork endlessly appearing. From the terrible
doubt of what we’d become.
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Geoff Bouvier's first book, Living Room, was selected
by Heather McHugh as the winner of the 2005 APR/Honickman
Prize. His writings have appeared in dozens of journals,
including American Poetry Review, Barrow Street, jubilat,
New American Writing, Western Humanities Review, and
VOLT. He received an MFA from Bard College's Milton
Avery Graduate School of the Arts in 1997. He currently
lives in San Diego, where he publishes journalistic prose
for The San Diego Reader.
{THE
INTERVIEW}
Birdie
Jaworski Visit With MR. Bouvier
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