I moved to Ames, Iowa, at one point for about six months, my first foray into the Midwest. The huge, disproportionate sky is what I remember most. I found an Iowa State University literary journal upon landing and read a poem that I was surprised to find in that wide flatland (evidence of my then coast bias; I had just come from Madrid, though). It had a cool form and I wrote a response in kind:
1. Alone, the setting sun answers plainlyd
dGoya's Saturn: Desperately, eating your sons; eyes to love you with.
2. Ah, the space between your mattress, tucked: metaphysical and pornographic; a metabolism wit sped away - a little man lost.
3. A perfect male, perfect, dying.
a beliefe
ephotosynthetic assumption:
the miracle of light in her eye.
4. Vermillion-shade, paled by the
blossom, vexed, in your cheek, forever?p
pVengeance, it is the same for any god.
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