Been pretty quiet around here. I know.
I have an address that's all my own. If you need it, send an email.
Meanwhile, Ninth Letter took a fantastic bunch of poems from Tung-Hui Hu in the 9th issue, and I recommend getting his book (came out 2003 from U of Georgia Press). Here's the first poem from that collection, The Book of Motion:
A rock a fish
Here there is breath.
There are rocks, but only
as an abdomen pulled
apart, that red color of
correction marks, cracked
lips, and swellings.
The people who live here,
stringy men, wispy
women, as if spun from
clouds, they are capable
of greater passions than
us: one man, infuriated
at this car, the lemon
that had cost him a life's
savings, drove it to the
canyon edge and cut away
the metal cord that coupled
the car, the rocks. Sliding
through the waters,
it breathed, and its gills
began to whiten with air--
how small the car must
have looked from above,
but to the fish it was as if
a continent had shifted,
stretched, and birthed
a new mountain range.
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