It Is Immense

by James Grinwis

He was a huge thing
in twos and threes,
like the plastic fins of darts
peeled off by gorillas
not as wound-up as you and me.
They want to screw
in the worst way possible
and it shows like a bloodwort
all across the storeroom,
where creatures are like drums,
and the porcelain ears,
all they do is crack.
If I approach a thing
I am forgotten or dropped off.
The dog is the memory
of a dog, walking through
the gardens of the famous.
Holding hands, waiting
for a dog, as in her spell,
as in a doll or a stalagmite,
a ferocity like straw, a straw
basket drowned in other baskets,
holding still in a world
not really reserved for those of us
gone, alive but gone.
There are things being formed
as we speak. A trickle
of salt like a field when
salt escaped. I am escaped
salt. You are escaped salt.
Because at the root, a root.


James Grinwis' second book, Exhibit of Forking Paths, was selected for the National Poetry Series and came out in '11 from Coffee House. He co-edits Bateau Press and recent poems have appeared or forthcoming in Realpoetik, Guernica, Coconut, and Forklift Ohio.

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