Before the Correction
You cannot impeach your own verdict.
like—I am, merely, psychotic. (Or,
trapped at least the sensation.)
The clouds slide like doors
above the lacquer river;
there goes the moon. There,
the windows snapping pictures,
purple red, of the lightning.
If “sensuous” is the first time it happens
(to you) then “sensual” is
every time thereafter. Either menace
in the abstract or the menace itself.
The locomotive could speed, lamp lamp,
town of Tempo True, corrugate,
town of Inky Sky, lamp lamp.
The Lower Forty Eight
cannot be seen by horoscopes,
the bandwidth of our dark energy,
the stillbirth of our clocks.
“Local” defers to jurisdiction, “local”
always defers. Electric bulb is matter and if
electric bulb were not nearly fright
but arrest—show interest,
show interest, I show interest you.
A blossom-late automatic
that will renew.
Dan Gutstein is the author of non/fiction (stories, Edge Books, 2010) and Bloodcoal & Honey (poems, Washington Writers’ Publishing House, 2011). He directs the Writing Studio and Learning Resource Center at Maryland Institute College of Art, and teaches creative writing at the Writer’s Center, in Bethesda, Md., and at George Washington University. In past lives, he has worked as an international economist, theatre arts educator, editor-in-chief, tae kwon do instructor, and farm hand.