by Ben Roylance
Long poem by the editor of Apport Editions.
“I know you from somewhere
An accident? a rite, in black cloud, a waving card
In a waving cloud, accessible only by the smell
Or light, blasted out into an accidental face
Complete, an act of basis, blue until waiting’s blue
Exact in its production but wasteful in its hap-
Opening strangely, waning costume, heavy mask,
Your balances, your clone, almost heavy overnight,
Column and wind, a saturation across hermit’s door
As an abiding structure, an abandoning mile of bell’s wind,
Combing a sun through a bottle, lacking a bandit, the planet
Cast and pinched into prayer, all along, spearmint’s beetle
Spittle cute, resting on a clean bit of bark, carpooled into
A certain someone’s gradation of culture, what culture…”
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