Static from low to high, from moons to June,
What compressed liars in their manifestos stress.
Eftsoons it is noon—a day in June, a moonless moon
Called new for cigarette lycanthropes to obsess
And fester over. Binaural sound discovers the snake
Of my mind's medulla, makes each north star a moot
Muted point. No one now calls for the layer cake
Of geological sediments, though that butte's a beaut.
So earth sings sentiments sans our lips as Garbo
Laughs forlornly to cancel the curtain's play.
Layered with light from trash fires, the old century's hobo
Jungle flickers like a muscle in the face of the new day.
That is, the sun can be remembered by a rhinestone
And sex stabs the corner of your sweeter eye's cologne.
This is gonna be a loooooong post. What follows is a freely edited transcription of my notes from the Zukofsky/100 conference at Columbia t...
Midway through my life's journey comes a long moment of reflection and redefinition regarding poetics (this comes in place of the conver...
Thursday, September 29, 2011 Berlin. Fog of sleep deprivation coloring an otherwise perfect blue autumn day a sort of miasmic yellow i...
Elif Batuman has amplified her criticism of the discipline of creative writing (which I've written about before ) in a review-essay tha...
My title is taken from the comments stream of an article recently published by The Chronicle of Higher Education , David Alpaugh's "...
Trained it down to DePaul's Loop campus this morning to take part in a panel, "Why Writers Should Blog," alongside Tony Trigil...
Will be blogging more or less permanently now at http://www.joshua-corey.com/blog/ . Or follow me on Twitter: @joshcorey
In one week Lake Forest will hold its commencement and I'll take off my professor's hat for the summer. A few weeks later, in June, ...
Farewell, Barbara Guest .
That's one of my own lines. From an untitled (they're all untitled) severance song: After form fails a furling, reports dying away,...