Ari Banias: “Authentic City”
“the sky slowly clearing, but clearing to what”
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
“the sky slowly clearing, but clearing to what”
“In the worst wreck of my inner space / there is a note: go to the page.”
“when will we / be blameless again”
Nothing in my song / indicates despair.
Sub-rosa cues on race— / the gutter-tongue that plays / to an ever-baser base— / what’s so hard to see?
My mind / Is like the harp strings, with a breeze blowing always / And no rest in sight.
Out of sight, out of sigh: an open / window.
I have forgotten where I placed my glasses. / I remember watching a boy roast and eat crickets.
Night was the length of two western states; / it took hours to pass.
That the belts move / among grease