Here are my current favorites from the Academy of American Poets<\/a>. <\/p>\n

The Primer<\/span><\/span>
by Christina Davis<\/span><\/p>\n

She said, I love you.
\n 
\n<\/em>He said, Nothing. <\/p>\n

\n(As if there were just one
\nof each word and the one
\nwho used it, used it up). <\/p>\n

\nIn the history of language
\nthe first obscenity was silence.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

Hazard Response<\/span><\/span>
by Tom Clark<\/span><\/p>\n

As in that grey exurban wasteland in Gatsby
\n<\/em>When the white sky darkens over the city
\nOf ashes, far from the once happy valley,
\nThis daze spreads across the blank faces
\nOf the inhabitants, suddenly deprived
\nOf the kingdom\u2019s original promised gift.
\nDid I say kingdom when I meant place
\nOf worship? Original when I meant
\nDamaged in handling? Promised when
\nI meant stolen? Gift when I meant
\nTrick? Inhabitants when I meant slaves?
\nSlaves when I meant clowns
\nWho have wandered into test sites? Test
\nSites when I meant contagious hospitals?
\nContagious hospitals when I meant clouds
\nOf laughing gas? Laughing gas
\nWhen I meant tears? No, it\u2019s true,
\nNo one should be writing poetry
\nIn times like these, Dear Reader,
\nI don\u2019t have to tell you of all people why.
\nIt\u2019s as apparent as an attempted
\nPunch in the eye that actually
\nCatches only empty air\u2014which is
\nThe inside of your head, where
\nThe green ritual sanction
\nOf the poem has been cancelled.<\/p>\n

****<\/p>\n

Concordance<\/span><\/span>
by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge<\/span><\/p>\n

Working backward in sleep, the
\n  last thing you numbed to is what
\n  wakes you.\n<\/p>\n

What if that image were Eros as
\nwords?<\/p>\n

What would it be like if you
\n  contemplated my words and I felt
\nyou?<\/p>\n

Animals, an owl, frog, open their
\n  eyes, and a mirror forms on the
\n  ground.<\/p>\n

When insight comes in a dream,
\n  and events the next day
\n  illuminate it, this gens your
\n  streaming<\/em> consciousness,
\n  synchronicity, asymptotic lines
\nof the flights of concordances.<\/p>\n

An owl opens its eyes in deep
\nwoods.<\/p>\n

For the first time, I write and you
\ndon’t know me.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Milweed I touch floats. <\/p>\n

****<\/p>\n

The Blue Terrance<\/span><\/span>
by Terrance Hayes<\/span><\/p>\n

If you subtract the minor losses,
\n  you can return to your childhood too:
\nthe blackboard chalked with crosses,<\/p>\n

the math teacher’s toe ring. You
\n  can be the black boy not even the buck-
\ntoothed girls took a liking to:<\/p>\n

the match box, these bones in their funk
\n  machine, this thumb worn smooth
\n  as the belly of a shovel. Thump. Thump.<\/p>\n

Thump. Everything I hold takes root.
\n  I remember what the world was like before
\nI heard the tide humping the shore smooth,<\/p>\n

and the lyrics asking: How long has your door
\n  been closed?<\/em> I remember a garter belt wrung
\nlike a snake around a thigh in the shadows<\/p>\n

of a wedding gown before it was flung
\n  out into the bluest part of the night.
\nSuppose you were nothing but a song<\/p>\n

in a busted speaker? Suppose you had to wipe
\n  sweat from the brow of a righteous woman,
\n  but all you owned was a dirty rag? That’s why<\/p>\n

the blues will never go out of fashion:
\n  their half rotten aroma, their bloodshot octaves of
\n  consequence; that’s why when they call, Boy, you’re in <\/p>\n

trouble. Especially if you love as I love
\n  falling to the earth. Especially if you’re a little bit
\nhigh strung and a little bit gutted balloon. I love<\/p>\n

watching the sky regret nothing but its
\n  self, though only my lover knows it to be so,
\nand only after watching me sit<\/p>\n

and stare off past Heaven. I love the word No<\/em>
\n  for its prudence, but I love the romantic
\nwho submits finally to sex in a burning row-<\/p>\n

house more. That’s why nothing’s more romantic
\n  than working your teeth through
\n  the muscle. Nothing’s more romantic<\/p>\n

than the way good love can take leave of you.
\n  That’s why I’m so doggone lonesome, Baby,
\n  yes, I’m lonesome and I’m blue. <\/p>\n

****<\/p>\n

I May After Leaving You Walk Quickly or Even Run<\/span><\/span>
by Matthea Harvey<\/span><\/p>\n

Rain fell in a post-romantic way.
\n  Heads in the planets, toes tucked<\/p>\n

under carpets, that\u2019s how we got our bodies
\n  through. The translator made the sign<\/p>\n

for twenty horses backing away from
\n  a lump of sugar. Yes, you.<\/p>\n

When I said did you want me
\n  I meant me in the general sense.<\/p>\n

The drink we drank was cordial.
\n  In a spoon, the ceiling fan whirled.<\/p>\n

The Old World smoked in the fireplace.
\nGlum was the woman in the ostrich feather hat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Here are my current favorites from the Academy of American Poets. The Primerby Christina Davis She said, I love you.   He said, Nothing. (As if there were just one of each word and the one who used it, used it up). In the history of language the first obscenity<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[45],"class_list":["post-546","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1DIlZ-8O","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/546","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=546"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/546\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=546"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=546"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=546"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}