Election Day Poem

Here’s a poem about vertigo and the slippery nature of knowing. Fairly appropriate for today, I think.


George Oppen told me how I suffer,
pinned vertigo, wobbly word–
vertical, going
to the page and told me

the thing that is–
the steal beam, the molten
metal strut constructed
from liquid, itself a fluidity
of atoms

which is empty space

the kind of truth
words offer us: the thing
skinning the thing.

No wonder we are
our firm foundation:
a lexical spill
shifting sands
of meaning drift,
cover what we take
to be bones, buried beneath.


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