Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, The Gothic Theater, Denver, Colorado.
I have a few poems up at THE FEMINIST WIRE. It seems like as good a time as any to think about the ways in which forms of capital, industry, and want of so-called progress put us at a remove—and from what or whom. Many thanks to the beautiful Tc Tolbert for seeking out these poems and hosting them.
My great-grandfather took this blurry photograph of an approaching train on the Rio Grande line in Cañon City, Colorado in the 20s or 30s.
From our dysfunction to yours.
Forgive me, i just remembered how the light swallows.
And the people all know that it’s over / They lay down all their airs / and hang up their tiresome words
Early morning dispatches from Mathias.
I save my favorite postcards for Rosmarie.
I have the gestures of some of the dead, / I am poking in your Secret I D to tell you, / we don’t have to be any way we were. / We owe nothing to the peace effort, or a cause, / clipping our wings. Inside each one I will touch and say / we owe nothing to the others. We are not a species / we are not indebted eaters. / I’m gonna sit here breathing on your soul. / Can’t think of anything else to do.
Alice Notley’s Secret I D is available from Catenary Press.
There under the quiet where I fell longer.