I thought I had a soldier’s place but it was a figment signature hardly a support for this body no more delirium than red-lipped and blushed not even a drowning a hanging an iron boot it was time to cash out (or start over fluted) my small man magnificent a soldier’s agreement in loyalty my standing up had everything not to do with futures the amusement only a fraction of towns and carnivals a fraction of paint a future of redemptions so tiny and piled I had trouble seeing them
Samuel Ace is the author of three collections of poetry: Normal Sex, Home in three days. Don’t wash., and most recently Stealth, co-authored with Maureen Seaton (Chax Press). He lives in Tucson, AZ and Truth or Consequences, NM. A current interview can be found here: http://thepleistocene.tumblr.com/post/28397738897/the-pleistocene-august-2012-with-samuel-ace or here: http://bodiesofworkmag.com/post/25584188898/samuelace.
Post a Comment