I stopped thinking about fruit and juxtaposition in favor of sharp, silver, fractured, gleam, and allowed the real conversation between observer and observed to begin. I found the first door into the poem through the cheap green plastic stem; it opened directly into childhood’s first world and my older brother’s army men. The poem was off—with its exploration of violence and savagery, real, imaginary, sublimated; surface beauty, shine, and shimmer; piercing, torture, and the gloriousness of bling with its sexiness and dazzle.
This entry was posted by Ivy
on Wednesday, August 01, 2012 at 6:18 PM.
You can skip to the end and leave a response.
© dumbfoundry 2012 Powered by Blogger and Blogger TemplatesOriginal design by Michael Heilemann.