Double Trouble

 

The night that Mary Evelyn Harju and Mary Walker Graham met for the first time; the reading I did at Stain Bar in Williamsburg Brooklyn in March 2007; is also the night Ms. Graham handed me a copy of Double, which I published in print in Ocho #11 and now on P.F.S. Post. Photo by Anonymous. Reading recorded by Amy King. 

Double

 A second singular moment from Mary Walker Graham. 

On the Banks of the River in Winter

On the Banks of the River in Winter, by Mary Walker Graham, made singular on P.F.S. Post.

Gardening at Night

 Andrew Lundwall's first full-length, Gardening at Night.

Blackbirds

 Blackbirds by Steve Halle, in its entirety.

Something Solid: Miscellaneous Sonnets: Plain View

 

There it was: it could only happen once, that I
saw you for the last time. To take the livid, coal-
black rings around your eyes (black rings, also, not
surreptitiously around me-who-could-be-to-you,
who seduced you, led you away from your girls,
from whom the needle-injections tattooed all that
coal), dissolve the black into the gold which was
actually in your brain (which bid you see the world
strangely, shapes, colors, lights, movements of them,
with incredible vivid cleanliness, jarred into narrative
motion, again, by split-in-half sensibilities, being twins),
all that needs to be done is to put the paintings in
plain view in the world & step back. Plain view is still
plenty difficult, but I’m willing to find my own eye-rings to do it.

Equations

Equations 1, The Thesis Episodes, on PennSound.

Equations 2, The Jade Episodes, completing the dialectic & book, on PennSound. 

Something Solid: Aughts Philly: Crowned

for Hannah Miller

The routine social maintenance of our domain—
another drunken night at McGlinchey’s, eyes & ears
to the ground as usual, broken then only by your
arrival. It must’ve been Nick who met you first,
I don’t remember, but I saw you were fixated on
him. Hannah: novelist, politico, of course, but looks which
teetered ambiguously into divisiveness for those
who knew you— heavy brows, wavy hair, tall, a bit
tomboyish, also, but articulate, a charmer, & yet I
registered the sense that if I ever got you, it would
be something gratuitous, a surprise, because closed
seemed to be the fortress, & choosing Nick seemed
to betray a masochistic streak. That night, his front
swelled visibly with your arrival— I stepped back.

You were, must’ve been, I later realized, underwater
somehow, surveying currents, examining the wildlife,
surreptitiously & invisibly carving a watery path to me.
I had only what the male of the species always has—
the equipment to complete your circuitry, potent or
impotent in any time or context, waiting latent to
take our moment, make it crescendo through the reef,
weed, rock, as though destined, written into ocean’s
records an eternity ago, when all life dwelt in the ocean,
all encounters occurred in resplendent semi-darkness.
And all this still sitting with the gang at the Glinch,
holding your own with a bunch of macho punks, who
were taking something in Philadelphia by force, me
selected silently, the tomboy an Ocean Queen, crowned—

Something Solid: Aughts Philly: The Studio on Argotist Online Poetry

From the Aughts Philly mid-section of Something Solid, the double sonnet The Studio is now up on Argotist Online Poetry. Many thanks to Jeffrey Side.

The Studio is also available as an individual mp3 page on PennSound.