Ephemeral stanzas: lyric fragments; temporary poem-installations; poem-art experiments; nesting material. August 2021.

Ephemeral stanzas: lyric fragments; temporary poem-installations; poem-art experiments; nesting material. February 2021.

I am curious to explore the diverse possibilities of print and digital publishing, so I'm happy to share "Water in Three Acts" as a handbound book, an ebook, these mini poems made from scraps of paper, and now a Zoom reading as well.

Selecting an armful of books to take when there's a fire . . . This week, I am fortunate and safe, and I want to read Renee Gladman, even if I struggle to read in the general atmosphere of danger and uncertainty.

“Pandora’s Box is my body” now floats outside of any particular poem, an internal chant that starts playing on repeat without apparent prompt. I fold laundry. I reply to email. I boil water for tea. Pandora’s box is my body. The line creates a strange periphery, an ambient, insistent pressure. Maybe it’s a catalyst to future poetry which—like a chemical catalyst—isn’t consumed by the new poem’s energy.

Lately, I’ve been interested in ephemeral stanzas. These brief lyric fragments come into being already engaged with disaster’s inevitability: the wind will carry off the last word, a weighty mosquito will topple a line balanced on a leaf, frayed syllables will slip into the deepest crevice of a burnt-out stump. Would a spider bother to gather them? Would an insect-seeking bird? I could be nesting material.