The Box of Books

Today I received a box of books. Not just any box of books, but books I have dreamed of owning. I was going to get in my bed and cover myself in them. I could get in the bath with them. I could sit in a bus shelter pretending to wait for a bus reading them ... but it is cold. 

In 2010 I found a copy of Post Modern American Poetry edited by Paul Hoover. 
When reading it, it felt like taking drugs might feel (I've never taken dugs) so forgive the exaggeration. There was a change in my brain. Something very exciting that language was doing. I had already found Kenneth Koch, which had changed and encouraged my own work, but here were poems and essays by Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Robert Creeley - I got in the spaceship, and went to space.

In Cold Hell, In Thicket by Charles Olson had an effect on me, I listened to it on PennSound over and over. 

Chris Eddy and I generally, when we meet, which is not too often, talk about poetry. 


Thank you Chris Eddy, you have no idea what a gift this is. 

The Box of Books

how many love poems
enter into
my feelings
from our tormentors, why love
red tongue, bad bed

and a box of books

how can our faces
touch the tree from its root
we have ignited

bright air

from a box of books

a Garden of Zoos
and razzle dazzle
set between his legs

-yes they eat

O who will pluck geranium
like a drink

I heard you asking questions
in the new territory

of a box of books

cleansing from each
a hidden positive and a visible deception –



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