Folds. Folding down
together in a group: sliding them around on the floor.
Tilting like a choking child (oneself), two splitting arcs,
on the inside. In back of. Value? Untouch,
untouch in tree sky, someone in tree sky, tree sky . . .
the internal color
bobs as I walk, flashes. I
pinched the flesh into a little wing.
Headline: “Young Knows
the Value of Veteran Leadership” center shifting to
position of edge would be edge shifting to center: near edge and the far edges, the edge between the opposite side and the bevel between the opposite side and the top, two bottom edges, wavering, shaking – how? – sliding – how? – across
red and gold surfaces to the center, to the centers,
to the opposite sides? Rotating? Parting and folding,
greeted by name. Has to be so smooth and pale where the hand
“would have been upright to signal the delivery of” –
with – someone
liked me for no reason, lowering the rag?
Faded green – fading – like yellow pigment. Above us? Can’t
take that form. Was meeting
the yellow surface at a single point (missing leather wings),
about to speak at the correct moment? Smooth
peripheral vision about to – “a sense of completeness.”
“A sense of completeness.” Arms can’t.
A leather wing missing from the chest. Very tall gold waist.
“I know what you need” – no one could accept it. “We” could never accept a
sacrifice (I couldn’t). What
sacrifice? Asking for a sacrifice, telling. “I’m going to tell
myself/someone else to make a sacrifice with it (oneself).” With it. “I know what
“I believe in you/myself.” “I’m telling the truth.” Is separate from itself, is hidden
being repeated. On or in/as the surface: the cutting edge, impression
of the cutting edge many times (non-illusionistic) and decay. Decay
where the cloak covers the right shoulder. What is underneath? Very slight
rigid lip, in both directions. Choosing
to repeat, possibility of rest. Joy, possibility of choosing to repeat. Can tell.
to repeat. Can tell. Once or twice (missing leather wings). In.
In/down to a straight line. Lowering the – choosing
the straightening force occurred here. In the room. Brought in.
Lowering. Like a voice.
Lowering. Lowering in the room. Backs of
the bowls. One
side? From any position? Pile,
a pile. Necessary to pull from the sides?
Oliver Strand is a visiting lecturer in Studio Foundation at Massachusetts College of Art and Design. His poems have appeared in Poor Claudia, The Fanzine, Spoon River Poetry Review and The Brooklyn Review.
Banner photograph by James Knight.