C Derick Varn

Absolute Negativity

Against the sun, there nothing but glare        the critical
essay writes itself        blind spots        the politics of young
alienated boys cheerleading an every day atrocity
who has gone into exile        whose broken the syntax into
clipped statements        the cries of monkeys in their infancy
I remember blossoms    in the street corner        I remember blood
on the pavement near Hemlock Street        I set my copy of Rimbaud
to the fire    the alienated boys are trust-fund kids with bowie knifes
I come to them as the end of history        I come to see the edge of a lake
Shuttering like tiny, wingless birds        the violence of assertion
we break apart the day        like oracle bones        like faces
one whispers in Samaritan Aramaic    the Mount Gerizim
runs with blood in the shadow of Justa        twenty dead in New York
a hermit crab loses its shell            low velocity
I live in this room    the boys dig graves    probably their own
It is Christmas soon        the explosions come   and go
I burned a cherry blossom tree I sprayed away the blood



C Derick VarnC Derick Varn is a poet, teacher, and theorist. He currently edits for Former People. He has an MFA in Poetry from Georgia College and State University where he served as assistant editor for Arts and Letters: A Journal of Contemporary Arts. He won the Frankeye Davis Mayes/Academy of American Poets Prize in 2003 and his poetry has appeared in Unlikely Stories 2.0, Full of Crows, Writing Disorder, JMWW, Clutching at Straws, Xenith, Piriene’s Fountain, and elsewhere. He currently abides in Cairo, Egypt with his partner, and a bunch of books, reads manuscripts for Zero books, and writes at night.

 



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