Preview: “About Certain Kinds Of Poetry,” from MY FIST IS A BOOK OF ETHICS


It is only when one realizes that this occurs

that when, somewhere along the way, it has become

apparent like a linking action, a small piece

of it has come to parody sense or, to put it another

way, has been given another, different way

of doing something up to and against its own purpose


because and-then-its-gone

it is for an impending evening,

is always behind and ahead

of itself, defying itself as such,

remembering insofar as this

is an act of dissolution


having received the quality of palpability

in light of its object’s curious lack

it suggests that suggestion is both

its verb and more than that, that that

tilting, leaning, nudging, blinking deixis

points to a series of resonant circles

that either both nest in and emanate

from that which it should not be in the

business of isolating, or lets go of

the value of location while wanting more

than anything to be relieved of the

burden of description through the

resistance of the one for whom

said realization has happened to occur


and so we are seen to do nothing

like slip away, relentlessly

away from something


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