One Poem
from The World Book of Pork Dishes
it’s engaged
and shaped
wall washers
on the payroll
pressing the organ
elemental wires
wheels turning
you want the color
to mean something
and the colors don’t
mean anything
just stuff
production happening
the cattle on that plain
is long gone
and the clouds used
to cast shadows on them
the sun is no different
one cannot explain
the world to anyone
when we understand
that everything is wrong
the city of new pork
in the sleep memory
a kiss in the street
from the taverns
by the secret lots
the past
is a never-ending source
the aspect of building
the alter involves time
high on the rooftop
thinking about pork
taxes
military drafts
major canals
megafauna dies
rocks that resemble
explosions
defense connections
federal support
corporate grace
chorizo grease
a town like any other
rain
names of streets
drowned tools
cuddly sea
the gold foil
bald on the apple
out with it evening
go believe
moronic seltzer
what question was
i asking
drifting off to sleep
the next time
i got depressed
going across town
valley floor
seeing the vulture
black crow
rock climbing rocks
a tree fell
every 40 seconds
across the meadow
and love
had to take a chance
on the southbound mail
hotel memory
working on the river
what matters if things are fleeting
as long as they happened
little by surely
one whole year
fizzing whippets
may the lavender hue
of nothing’s shirt
the magnificent seven
elemental wires
absent the frame
major canals
megafauna dies
rocks that resemble
explosives
fumbling for contours
of new pork
city from a plane
high on the roof
seeing none blurry
lights looked
like candles
diving through hills
chi chi’s on the way
red flashing
lights blue
flushing lights
green flashing
lights red
every single day
are you
are you determined
what was
the name of the airport
sedatives
expedience
this spirit was in a dead zone
the whole
smoke scene
effectively four years
name difference
interior delta
bruted things
stuff just production
happening
i’d gaze into the fountain
and see her beautiful face
the little red notebook i had
with all that writing is gone
i saw you at the demonstration
with rain and all things gone
i wonder if things would
have turned out differently
if i went out with
you guys that one night
twenty minutes
from mother’s day
the train
stops moving
∩
Colin Russell is a poet from Walnut Valley, West Virginia. He lives and works in Queens.