Little Ease by Aaron McCollough

Little Ease by Aaron McCollough


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I loved this book this morning. It was cold and I loved hearing myself reading it to myself which is a little engine I created, which fits with the writing and the idea of stricture. I loved how far apart, how long, how missing. I loved the rigid little bridge of epigraphs. I loved the sections and I know it's silly to feel asleep in the language, so maybe taken care of or rocked or just blown on, and because I'm sick today and all my thoughts feel taken out of me and laid like eels on the bedstand -- I'm giving Little Ease one thousand stars. That's right. Every single one.

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Incivilities by Barbara Claire Freeman

Incivilities by Barbara Claire Freeman


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
You know you're a badass when Judith Butler does your blurb. I swung between liking and kinda liking this. A few times I smirked because it did some twirling and ta-da's. Sometimes the lines were like pick-up sticks--a rigid little nest -- and I liked it because it felt pumping up. Other times it felt like a rigid little maneuver which I didn't care as much for--but it was always smart and I did like that. But in the all-and-all of this day, I enjoyed reading it. aloud. Here's to you Black Friday, you prick of a day. I will go jogging now.

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Poetry State Forest by Bernadette Mayer

Poetry State Forest by Bernadette Mayer


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
The all hanging out and the lack of a snowblower, the tenebrous winter, the peeking. The dangling couplet, the twosome, the yoke, the other just-as-good yoke, the home stretch, the briars among the eggs, the new neighbors, the landscape of tyranny that has other names, the index of conversation, the breastplate, the snowblower o! and b for bushes, the caterwaul, the list of phil(s), the muffled heart, the fillings and other dental adventures, the notes to self, the notes that are to, the notes awaying and hey and ho and gentle looking-out-the-window-ness.

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Hurry Home Honey: Love Poems 1994-2004

Hurry Home Honey: Love Poems 1994-2004 by Sawako Nakayasu


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Hurry Home Honey by Sawako Nakayasu is a sorta-triptych of love poems that might better be described as relationship-poems. We are cast in and out of relationships, looking forward/back, on the balcony, at play, in the book about. We are evaluating and intuiting, compelled to gather flowers, steal beer. We meet at a word that means everything and/or nothing. Well we sort of meet, but the meanings of 'we' and 'sort of' and 'meet' are all contentious anyway so the sentence projects us forward and there we are, irrevocably, "eyes spin to the play--circomfiting / this here, or andlessness..."

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more on the homunculus

hangover charges

To
day
is
pills
day
hencefor
th
things're
petals
formy
errors


--

my lay face
is shut up elephant
you are just
a trunk

--

white ones will
finger tips me
my face island
face burst coral


---


Damascus was just a townPeople
went to


--


nov, check
ember, pending


--


Then my little face
traverses grassy here
I am Athens

___


light flips
the flies on



___



this pill is a reef


___


dour sheet
I reflect thee

Leaves fall leaves

I set it done
I set it was done
in shambles of leaves
reflex leaves
they spell
out hands
lay sweetly
both hadnt's
sheeshing
intersticed

a bum on a wire:
owl, old
shawl
when fills the sky
with
leaves
and they bits
they breaks
they speaks /
cudgel the word for
casting effing naked claws
at bay
why sweet bay
my mind ex-
halts
where pelicans fasten
some plural of touching
down,
floating kinds
of hay, sweetness exists
lightishly on the purple bay:
a pitcher of fishes
______r of grass
floating contains
the following

-


nary which simperer
islands his boots on the bud
and a-hars a-here
breathing between threads
a feather wet on his face
I set it done
I set it was done
in shambles of leaves
the following
feather wet on his head
give us the horns
give us the strings
the splash

the wet feather hinges aureole
around us smelling wet
and cold and pure
put the reeds before us
arranging them thus
I know what we have done with



also simper
also fraught
also

must cut
aways, truncate
objections in
distinguishable
smokecoat
ergo
, the less I set it
the less help crumpled
against it, balcony leaves,
shirt leaves, slits,
pulanski leaves re:
letters shredded pale horsegrass
how grasp that scene
in thatch and fuzz
the neutral body boat leaves
I set it was good/done did I

broken island
leaves sweet as breaks
nights light as this one
catena
aureole
the wet feather hinges aureole
around us smelling wet
and cold and pure
put the reeds before us
arranging them thus
what we have done with



also simper
also fraught
also

must cut
aways, truncate
objections in
distinguishable
smokecoat
ergo
, the less I set it
the less help crumpled
against it, balcony leaves,
shirt leaves, slits,
pulanski leaves re:
letters shredded pale horsegrass
how grasp that scene
in thatch and fuzz
the neutral body boat leaves
I set it was good/done did I

broken island
leaves sweet as breaks
nights light as this one
catena
aureole

the countingman

joiner is the countingman you see
none wilder, littler, vested
w/ his countryish hamstand mouth
you can fuck your own germs
to see a milkshake land alot like hm
to really be the wobble

the illiad is beautiful in the fall
apples fall
you can fall into your own plush vote
its fall and touching your face stops
the morning so core, prime
you can truck
a big fucking truck
down hand and cock street
down jack and son street
dis countingman
chicken
nugget
from
real
white
chicken

horseriding

No you do not want to
No you most certainly don’t
Up the the ___ LORD
and push the key in
as round and as soft as you
transpire / look out
for nets, weeks, locale

tit is kind of short
for the future
nation of delicate samplings
swinging beasties
moods
erasers
prefixed
you up
horseriding
un-
horseriding

Juliology by Nicolas Pesquès

Juliology by Nicolas Pesquès


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
What do you want me to say about it? What could I possibly say after reading it? I would be such a pain in the ass if I said anything at all. To dream to read this poem. Sans surrealism. Sans climbing up anything and falling down. Sans self-consciousness. I could go on about all the things the poem isn't and get you nowhere. I just don't want to write over anything. Or lift anything out. You'll just have to read it, won't you.

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