by Matt Herron
Poem
by Frank O’Hara
God! love! sun! all dear and singular things!
I am not bad although I am wicked
perhaps, and not too rare. Beat, yes, liquored
to exhaustion, dead tired in sheets, still sings
to me the thunderous redwood’s laughings
at my ears, a lover patient and picked,
and the crooning violet’s not panicked
by my bloodshot foreskin, swollen lips, wings,
her tongue stays in my ear and sings. Purple
clouds, doubting, say hello across the lawn
and linen, wondering if I’m too gay
with exits, too abrupt with doors. Away
far! the scratchy tune “L’amant du peuple”:
I see a girl tap-dancing on the dawn.
by Matt Herron
The Manoeuvre
by William Carlos Williams
I saw the two starlings
coming in toward the wires.
But at last,
just before alighting, they
turned in the air together
and landed backwards!
that’s what got me–to
face into the wind’s teeth.
by Matt Herron
Youth
by Arthur Rimbaud
IV.
You are still at Anthony’s temptation. The antics of abated zeal, the grimaces of childish pride, the collapse and the terror.
But you will set yourself this labor: all harmonic and architectural possibilities will surge around your seat. Perfect beings, never dreamed of, will present themselves for your experiments. The curiosity of ancient crowds and idle wealth will meditatively draw near. Your memory and your senses will be simply the nourishment of your creative impulse. As for the world, when you emerge, what will it have become? In any case, nothing of what it seems at present.
by Matt Herron
1.
restless in comfort
he capers around the world
now no longer bored
2.
a lesson for you
in haiku: do what you love
and love what you do
