from Idiots
Dusty Neu
I is after
I & slowly &
without
current, pool
expo, or boat
show. His many
years and
twenty acre
hands
handy in helping those in
need. A pencil to
use, for us
to get on with
ourselves. Getting on
I'm often asleep
in the back seat——
often all the way
asleep.
"To get
on with ourselves," said
Leander,
mine man in the
Pacific War. He
drank his
cheek bone,
two ribs,
his
bed, he
occurred in
bags like
families on a trip. I
sleep all
the way there.
There's a man
after my own
legs.
Stop now or
the next
day. May
stoops over me
at all my
blessings; a
light jacket, mild
aches. Can
change my
look, move away to
a reptile farm. Two
plates meet
at the northern
end of the
lake near a horse farm
and form a
ridge for the
fog to come over at night.
& if an
opportunity comes
to knock on a body
I'll do it as
it comes. But for a few in
block houses,
in bed, private; to
avoid shooters,
I'd gladly pay
my way more. Graphic
realities, country of
arms &
my brother; it's a lot
of love for him
to swerve into a ditch.
Last year I was
in terrible pain &
I can't remember why.
Field elm, island oak,
live oak, almond, alder,
sycamore, laurel,
I'm so trees! So
no direct relief
for me,
light irregular
geology of
the north country
(not mini golf, etc.) sinks
too my feeling.
My apologies to
orchard bees, sick
fathers, and horse
breeders;
the valley's light
objects instead of
slash-and-burn or insecticides.
Dusty Neu is a poet and translator born and raised in rural California with an MFA from Brown University. He co-translated Alessandro de Francesco's Remote Vision from the Italian (Punctum Books) and his poetry has appeared in VOLT, Pear Noir!, and 3am. He lives and works in Rhode Island.