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Poetry

Three

 

Young Continent

                        for C


Futurity jags
the ether                                                                                                collapse                                                                                fold                                                                                                      young continent between

and, thinking
Oh imagination

imbibed on all this want                                                            extreme elixir                                                                                          clarity
not as tonic but as dash
right down the center of all
notion

     Bloom
of dear                                                                                                            hello hi                                                                                 and dearest                                                                                           yours

I wish that you were here
A beat just long enough

      to grace
      the crowded
      room

pre-lingual
introduction

Thank you for having us here


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Work for the Desert

                                    for Beth Gill


Please smooth back his hair
like falling features, learn
to tender. Shoulders
squared
in touch repose
accordance to the thought
for just so long
between you two
a softening

Move away, now forward

“The risk is a part
of the rhythm,” Edwin Denby
writes in Forms in
Motion and in Thought

Suspending problem for a moment

Here, the light
a spectral space and if
it weren’t for this wind the
light would be
a garment


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                    for B

We tore into in-
articulate flip
fine line of comedy
bowed
snap banter
now
it’s undecided,
what Gilda called
“The Whirlies”
woozy, louche
clamorous
mess becomes
a room with such a view—
cruise docked next to battleship
Manhattan and a cut in my nose
goes unhealed for weeks,
Springtime
allergens
lindens look so lovely
though
show folk with a duffel bag
we are humming the same thing
Oh won’t you
shine a little light
on me

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contributor

Corrine Fitzpatrick

CORRINE FITZPATRICK is based in Brooklyn. She is a recipient of a 2014 Creative Capital/Warhol Foundation Arts Writers Grant.

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The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2015

All Issues