Jared Chipkin
Jared Chipkin works and lives in Lower Manhattan. He has work in the most recent issue of Poetica Magazine.
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Retro
I would not write it if
I was not hopeful,
just because
the creations
being dark(as they are)
does not mean
there is(is) not any light
(it is how I see the light...),
I do not need any movie(still) to tell me that
(someONE else's light),
(SOMEone else's dark),
something else's night-
all else
is freezing right.
Law
Roosters resounding,
two lucks
of poets: even.
Grounds given-
facing south
veering west
winter's pale autumnal
light building.
August Sky
My holy man of this turgid I; ole' wormin' fishman--
so 'tis a worm by and in deed, tangerine
puke yet fading...
Hellish, let stink! Fickleful and derelict a-'lectrically 'cross crystalline,
'cross deciduosity.
'Cross a synapse of bunk
slumberin' oceanic barracks,
troo' and star-spoked with
'venge-ear christening, wan-
at-point, fatalistic and, knit-wet drapery:
weight-baited, aqua-
translucent to this distilled diaphanous day-
space for bane-wending, but
weather-bound by a hash o' lil' delivered
quarter-grape, if fool, venus gestalt...
O august high!
O knuckle-bragged and bothering!
O august sky!
O crustaceous wavering in the southern.
O august high!
O boweavil serengeti states!
O august sky!
O parchment above the wily-stilted scorch!
O august high! O fear-comin' northern gaseous giants!
O august sky!
Jared Chipkin works and lives in Lower Manhattan. He has work in the most recent issue of Poetica Magazine.