Spring 2012

Palatial is the compass that shall usher us in

Approximated in charcoal
on paper, thin as drizzle
on a marathon, you want description
to be molting, animalesque—a mandate
counting down to perplexity
Acquiesce to joy!
The blue jay I describe
simply moves away from itself
No anchors! No conscription!
No transactions disguised as traffic!
Ask if there’s a castle on the hill
Ask if there’s a hill on the hill
Is lettuce on the table still a description?
Ink’s ruined everything passes through our papery house
The sun of visual experience passes through our papery house



The player will show in this paragraph

A video by Marcus DeMaio in response to Noah Eli Gordon's poem