“Seth Abramson” is a Google Alert.
What I Read When I Read “Monsters” By Dorothea Lasky (Which I Read)
This is a world where there are poets
by Seth Abramson
This is a world where there are poets
There are poets everywhere, neo-formalists and conceptualists
There are poets on Twitter, there are poets in my bed.
There is one poet. She is my little one.
I talk to my little poet.
I give my little poet some Stevia but that does not satisfy her.
I tell her, ssh ssh, don’t growl little poet!
And she growls, oh boy does she growl!
And she wants something from me,
She wants my soul.
And finally giving in, I give her my gleaming soul
And as she eats my gleaming soul, I am one with her
And stare out her eyepits [sic] and I see nothing but white
And then I see nothing but fog and the white I had seen before was nothing
but fog
And there is nothing but fog out the eyes of poets
When I was six or seven, I skinned my knee. It’s an experience that’s never really left me. This is a poem about that. And the magic of poetry. It’s called “Ars Poetica,” which means “small gift” in Latin. This poem owes a significant debt to Dottie Lasky and also to the magic of poetry.
note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!
Tags: Poem-A-Day, Seth Abramson
where’s his tits