Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Tuesday poem #207 : Brian Henderson : Words / How to perform the taste test

Everything swims upstream against the stickiness of vision
The street the house in the street the room in the house
The desk in the room the book on the desk the cut forest
The various chemistries the words in the book the desk
On which lies a book in the book and at which I am
Sitting everything is a door including the thumping
Helicopter of the grouse its wings pounding like a heart
You’ve stuck to my vision in the kitchen like the persistent
Brightness that remains once you close your eyes on the window’s
Gathering of the morning you don’t hear the helicopter you
Hear an unstartable motor one thing is always more than
One thing don’t you find words for instance a word is
A door a sound an etymology that is to say a continual
Transformation in time a reach is unique but also
Reusable for instance the word I’m thinking of bitcom
Telepathy autoimmunity chrysalis Lily Cup landfill
Tom-tom aubade ocean otter operand is probably being
Used in someone else’s sentence right now is a series
Of syllables or a single letter letter not yet mailed you
Put it in one fire and it burns green in another blue in
Another orange in another it’s knowledge that burns
To cinders when known and so forth in a secret
Solution and its invisibility rises to the surface and
Floats away though it’s addressed to you and you
Have to drink the solution that might be
Purple or teal or tea-coloured and has
A pleasantly sweet smoky finish

Brian Henderson is the author of 11 collections of poetry, including The Alphamiricon, a box of visual poetry (also on the web here), Nerve Language, a finalist for the Governor General’s Award, Sharawadji, shortlisted for the Canadian Authors Association Award for Poetry, and [OR]. He’s at work on word swarms of liminal spaces and is a once-upon-a-time director of WLUPress.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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