Moving as a mind moves across a math problem,
Or an eye across a lover’s body,
Or a dragonfly across the sky,

If I look to the opposite shore and greet myself there, 
if I call out to myself come here 
and watch myself laboriously construct from shore-things 

 

Shit is the taste you want in your mouth,
said love, said love, be a dog,

Stacked the mind with fear: In my room, age eight
I hear him coming up the stairs, penance box

When spring opens the faucet out pours water, water;
if there were a baby playing in the driveway it would be
carried away, water would carry away every baby like the movie

The cocklebur and ergot, horse chestnut, fescue taste not,
neither taste the green false hellebore nor jimsonweed

Here Follows an Account of the Nature of Fish.
Here follows a description of an unknown town.

First my books grew stiff
brass clasps like the books monks read.

A hush enshrouded them. They were

This is the second installment of Chiasson’s culture diary. Click here to read part 1.
DAY TWO 7:00 A.M. I have an e-mail from a guy I met last summer in Paris, Thierry Corcelle, of the incomparable Librarie Thierry Corcelle, 29 rue de Conde,…

DAY ONE 6:15 A.M. Our children wake us up. Nobody wants anything read to them this morning. They are involved in some kind of acrimonious negotiation involving Lego heads (“That’s my head!” “It’s MY head!” “No, mine!” et cetera) so…