KR OnlinePoetry

Dumpster

In the new music
I’ve discovered nudity.
You don’t have to sing
Or spell it out
So much as see
The difference between
The air and the air,
Money, chlorophyll and fear,
A phrase cut with
The nakedness that waking is.
No longer invested
In a poetry of what waking is,
I lace my sentences with sleep.
No poem sings beneath
This sly beat.
The bomb detonates
On a Chelsea street,
And your bed is animated
By its laughter
As Saturday enters
A premidnight stage.
I can’t commit
This sound to the page.

Daniel Poppick
Daniel Poppick is the author of The Police (Omnidawn, 2017). His recent work appears in the New Republic, BOMB Magazine, Granta, Bennington Review, and PEN Poetry Series. A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he currently lives in Brooklyn where he coedits the Catenary Press with Rob Schlegel and Rawaan Alkhatib.