Adam Fieled presents five poems from What Is and What Should Never Be, his newest manuscript. He is reading at Kate the Great's Book Emporium (5550 N. Broadway, Chicago) on Thursday, January 3. The reading also includes Larry Sawyer, Lina ramona Vitkauskas, Melissa Severin, and the editor of this blog-journal.
The Rain Song
It is constrained by water-wheels
It is beneath a tide of shorelines
It is in this way I reach out to you
I give you a seal made of pillows
I give you a pledge made of sheets
I want to be buried beneath you
as you move mountains off of
all in us exhausted by rain fall
all in us exhausted
I Want You (She’s So Heavy)
Can I see through miasmic
swamp of “I,” until I am all
alone with you, wrapped in
green clouds, tapping leafy
veins, rooted deep in an air
that is nowhere, & is endless?
Your deep cuteness makes all
things possible, probabilities
aside, & I want you, heavily.
In the Light
I was sunken in steamed
clarities, psalm-pasted, &
I rose from water-coffin
distances, skin wrinkled,
hair damp, sleet-grey sky,
naked bodies open arms,
I found God a towel, I
knew creation a bitches
Babe I’m Gonna Leave You
I take the weight of white out,
spherical wrinkle-coated burdens,
lay them down (whitely) in a big
blast in a cul-de-sac hieroglyph’d
shelter that stretches like melted
glass coated/slick, enact a vague
sun rising/disappearing on a vast
horizon, yes all this just to see you
open your mouth, daisy-glazed to
be used this way (I mean when it
happens you bow to it), then leave,
& I’m ready to leave you now
I split apart from you
I say you are not me, or
you are an old version
of me as a blues song,
but just as the universe
does not fit into 12 bars
or three chords or a pick
plucking a minor third,
my mind’s purview, big
enough to bust a dam,
takes you and rolls you
(roll, baby, roll) into no
ball but a baseball and
hurls you at a slugger
who bats you in an arc
over a Green Monster—
that’s how we’re split
© Adam Fieled 2007
