Some temperature rises in the elbow, then in the knee.
Who taught us these connections, these movements. Stolen moments
like bodies disinterred and dancing the rumba.
Some kind of alarm to predict the distillation of intent.
Yet we speak beneath a cuneiform sky. Yet we break the consolation of
attachment, some mechanization dreamed up in an outlying factory.
Or the reader, likewise hiding within him or her or you, or within some
airspace your eyesight intersects. The total text therefore comprises a
world, and we are its occupants.
Andy Frazee is also the author of That the World Should Never Again Be Destroyed By Flood, selected by Dan Beachy-Quick as winner of the New American Press Chapbook Competition. His Pushcart Prize-nominated poetry has appeared in 1913, Eleven Eleven, Cannot Exist, BlazeVOX, and other journals, and his book reviews and criticism regularly appear in Verse and The Quarterly Conversation. The son, grandson, and great-grandson of farmers, he grew up in rural Central Illinois. A graduate of the University of Illinois and the University of Georgia, he currently holds a Marion L. Brittain Postdoctoral Fellowship at Georgia Tech.