I'm on the lee side of this front, spits of snow hitting the brown wood of the liquor store, and the red light sways above traffic. Overnight one wants to sleep under the steam of passing waves of ice and snow. It's a dream you have, staying warm and alive. The lantern of your mind turning and turning all night. Who has not filled a Mason jar with cider and watched Aguirre: The Wrath of God, go do it. But get under a blanket. I won't ever forget those threads, and they mix it up well with the polish, Stanford's Snake Doctors, joining us in class on the tenth of November . . . So I put on the heavy coat, the one made out of industrial burlap and then lined nine times, and there like the history of dismemberment: my gloves all balled up, gripping each other, inside the dark pocket. Meanwhile, it's dimly flickering blue inside a brown house, the one on the corner, and the backfiring commences--the just now waking furnace. It gets so dark when the world leans away. And a Caddy with one headlight appears, moving off Scott Street. At first I think it is a lamp on a coal miner's helmet. That's how nice it is. That's how fucking cold.
Author of eight books of poems, most recently The Coldest Winter on Earth (Marick Press). Also author of The Nervous Filaments (Four Way Books, 2010) and Orphan, Indiana (Akron, 2010). 2010
also saw the release of Sky Booths in the Breath Somewhere, the Ashbery Erasure Poems (BlazeVox), as well as The Other Life: the Selected Poems of Herbert Scott,(Carnegie Mellon)which I edited. My new book, Animalities, will be published in 2014 by Four Way Books.