Sunday, March 18, 2007

Julie Doxsee

Dear Xylem

Your bells
unyellow as they fall,

hollow out a song
to fill with splinters.   The minus-sign

on the coastline wants you, but in
January buses don’t run

before a naked man brings
your stalk to where

his body & a snow
bank melt.

Dear Halo

On this day
I take a bite of

glow & become
part of you. I eat

a fireball in someone
else’s wooden yard.

When we fissure
smooth water

with fishhooks
I am handed the

legal pad of words
you hide in. You

are a lizard in the
headlight but I see

only angel & tail.

Xylem Tour

February exits
protecting rain

& army jackets from
sullen hikes in the

ice-cream snow.    This
is about melting

the new year onto
confetti the serifs

shrink. The word year is
curled up on a snow-blind

sheet or is typed onto snow
waiting for a large person

to watch it sparkle.

Julie Doxsee lives in Denver, Colorado, where she is pursuing a PhD in English and Creative Writing at the University of Denver. Her chapbook, The Knife-Grasses, was recently published by Octopus Books, a new press launched by the editors of Octopus Magazine. Other forthcoming publications include two chapbooks, Fog Quartets (horse less press) and You Will Build a City Out of Rags (Whole Coconut Chapbook Series), as well as a book, Undersleep (also from Octopus Books, Winter 2007/2008).