Summer 2009 • Vol. XXXI No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2009 |

Note to self

Here: settled. This I am doing amends rend, wholes. Who finds that: the boat, the oars, can say to flood: I rise above. The best of? Don't know, but by word, am making of bad and good some third, a world of minded chance, of whorled suppose: of ouch and is, deposed. Dear rest of me: so there. The desk of me is happy, well, is geared, turns from fact to future, tongues the tocks alive. Lordy lordy: I am of this and nothing else. What the second feels I say, what bless, what thrive, and mostly wrong but close, closer: I hold on and out, less for now than every next arrive. 

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Bob Hicok's most recent book, Elegy Owed, will be published in the spring of 2013 by Copper Canyon Press.

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Here: settled. This I am doing amends rend, wholes. Who finds that: the boat, the oars, can say to flood: I rise above. The best of? Don't know, but by […]

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Here: settled. This I am doing amends rend, wholes. Who finds that: the boat, the oars, can say to flood: I rise above. The best of? Don't know, but by […]

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