No Longer Passengers

Splendid fragments from Rae Armantrout’s Versed:


The train halts. An engineer tells us we’re stopped because we’ve lost touch with the outside world. Things are happening ahead, but we don’t know what they are. This could represent an act of war. We stand in a field, no longer passengers.

This one seems appropriate for where were are in our current investigation:

What We Mean

  • Oh Princess,
  • you apple-core afloat
  • in coke
  • in a Styrofoam cup
  • on an end-table,
  • you dust, glass, book, crock, thorn, moon.
  • Oh Beauty who fell asleep
  • on your birthday,
  • we swipe at you
  • *

  • How are we defining “dream?”
  • An exaggerated sense
  • of the relevance
  • of these details
  • of “facts”
  • as presented?
  • A peculiar
  • reluctance to ask
  • presented by whom
  • and in what space?
  • *

  • By space we mean
  • the collapsible

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