Kathryn Merwin
A toothless moon on 43rd Street—
somebody is crying, sirens
in the city. I saw the color of your eyes. I saw you,
kneeling in the brambles, sewer-rot
painted on your ankles, all tooth and skin and razorblade
like the jack knife I’ll use to cut out my tongue
if they come for you, if they ask
where you’ve been hiding.
Everything splinters. This is a place
where the dead creak in trees, where their white eyes
follow the ones who howl—their cold,
indigo blood. This is my famine—you,
crouching in alleyways, broken bottles
(God was in the bottles). Smack
on black tongue, canines slowly turning brown. We rot like yellowed pumpkins. We shoot
until the barrel jams.
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Cinema Marquee reading "All we have is words."
“Another Person's Words: Poetry is Always the Speaker"

"More than rhyme and meter, or any other formal aspect, what defines poetry is its self-awareness. Poetry is the language which knows that it’s language, and that there is something strange about being such. Certainly, part of the purpose of all the rhetorical accoutrement which we associate with verse, from rhythm to rhyme scheme, exists to make the artifice of language explicit."

via THE MILLIONS
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Jennifer Chang's handwritten lines from "Meditation at Lagunitas"

"After a year of college, I knew I was not going to major in Classics (early class times), Political Science (dry texts), or Philosophy (huh?), so I signed up for a course called Contemporary American Poetry. We met in the afternoon, in a classroom dominated by a wood table that had been worn by age into a dark honey. It was shaped like a pond, a near ellipse, and how it got into the room was unfathomable to me...”
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