Friday, November 19, 2021

Rae Armantrout

 


Rae Armantrout's poems apprehend the world as a place charged by the nonexistent supernatural. For her, the eerie thing is that ghosts don't exist.


Confidential

Shooting pleasures   
Ok’d by
My being seen
For
Or as
If.

                   *

Not just light
at the end of the tunnel,

but hearts, bows, rainbows—

all the stickers
teachers award if pleased.

                   *

Pigeons bathe in technicolor   
fluid “of a morning.”

                   *

If I was banging
my head with a shoe,
I was just exaggerating—

like raising my voice   
or the ante.

Curlicues
on iron gratings:

Can it be
a flourish is a grimace,
but a grimace isn’t a flourish?

                   *

On the inscribed surface
of sleep.

Almost constant   
bird soundings.

“Aloha, Fruity Pebbles!”

Music, useful
for abstracting emphasis.

Sweet nothing   
to do with me.


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