Valve

by Aaron Boothby

Aaron Boothby lives in Montréal and works on poems in the gaps between labour and living. A first book of poetry came together in late 2014 and is out looking for a publisher, having accumulated enough rejections from manuscript prizes. Current projects include trying to fuse poems together the way Andy Goldsworthy works with ice. Writing has appeared most recently in Whiskey Island and Axolotl. Words in various arrangements get tossed around @ellipticalnight.

One possible inquiry  :
what materials   objects   phrases   residues
are produced in this long act     ( living   let’s
continue    call it that )     call it burning down

what’s harvested    what veins cut   flesh consumed
what roots pulled from earth     all’s a harvest  :
not yet finished     exhausting itself    life shorter
shorter again     same as feared     as expected
thinking always there’d be more          thinking
curse of intellect     anxious          a real question

all’s same when done some sort of residue   left of you
ash mixed pigments     remainder hanging fluid in air
perhaps a perfect closed text     place to be contained
witnessing I beg insertion of error     a fingernail     hair
gasp     no not that kind not so clinical     word
or shadow

an ache     that stars should have meaning of themselves
instead mean only what they mean for I     you
stain taking form of memory     in knowing     that limits you
each hesitation a refusal     draws a scar into the air
another piece fragmentary     sketched
between points of light strung out

one possible rule  :
speak no words     write no words    as if
any’s already understood     what could open you could
you open yourself?     partake and be partaken of?
could you empty       into I       even then
what evidence of this     later     of flood     what detritus
wasn’t ever physical left no stain
mattering most only sense     utterance     no material
water passing through as it    opens     closes

 


Aaron Boothby lives in Montréal and works on poems in the gaps between labour and living. A first book of poetry came together in late 2014 and is out looking for a publisher, having accumulated enough rejections from manuscript prizes. Current projects include trying to fuse poems together the way Andy Goldsworthy works with ice. Writing has appeared most recently in Whiskey Island and Axolotl. Words in various arrangements get tossed around @ellipticalnight.

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