Monday, August 21, 2006

Elizabeth Willis, Meteoric Flowers

From "Glittering Shafts of War"
Lost words are lost boys. Those woods are combing the hair of paradise. You're waking and thinking, an opera of our minor ways: Sweet William, Virginia. What we fear in fearlessness turns over the table. You don't blame the lamp for what you cannot read, the fire in the match not struck.
Baudelaire and Darwin meet in Willis' prose poems. Wonderful syntactic and semantic leaps. They remind a little of Anne Carson's Short Talks, a favorite of yours truly. The sentence, I love the sentence...

No comments: