Objects for a Fog Death is a series of odes to images and objects, and to the “you” responsible for distancing these images and objects from mortal relationships. With this distance comes a profound desire and a heightening awareness of earthly proximity. Through the accompanying hypnagogic verses, oceans quiet the voice while disorientation hurls it into a temporary place—hovering overhead or shying away in the murk. Is a river an object? Is fog an object? Or for that matter, is fog a place? Behind this book lies a call for rescue from confinement and immobility, from the ineffability of touch. Out of this fog springs forth the coeval shriek of something that will not be reduced to love. Available now from Black Ocean.

Samples after the jump…

Skyholes that Made You Laugh

I throw a moon, it rolls
onto your bathroom roof.

Look where the sky greens
around where I ripped

it, full null hung
like a roar.  Radios screw

up.  I told the bullet
whir & the bullet

made a world.

X

With a fingertip you cross
my chest beginning to end &

we graduate gradually
to knives. In a trance

under the violet-blind sheet
I see only the wind

waving violets, cartoon-
ripe from a plan perfectly

cut. Tingling after the
grip, your hands make

a shadow parrot, but
there is no sun to cast it, to

make it look not guilty
like hands.

• 
• 

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
•