Thursday, May 29, 2014

Andrew Nance


Sometimes ill-lit
backlights behind
the eye, what we used
to think was primacy
not of feeling but
thinking is fodder.
We are dehydrated 
again, the dog wants
in, and light on hand
equals lead in
its stream. We used
to be it, not in
terms of but
terms of breath.

Apostrophe Switch

Listening to the lights'
fault fold over me,
you were here once
so stop me if I'm saying
it right twice, truth
modulating as I pass
over New Guinea,
Sana'a, or listen
to visible suspensions
of carbon speak freely
and say my rights
are a hagiography, naked
graphemes of my
prerecording all intaglio-
blue bled-out green.

Andrew Nance’s poems and reviews have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Better: Culture & Lit, Colorado Review, Guernica, LinebreakNarrativeThe Winter AnthologyPetri Press, and elsewhere. He is the founding editor of Company. A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he will begin a PhD at the University of Georgia this fall.