Whit Griffin

The Casket That Contains All The Invisible Workmen

When it came time to come into this
incarnation, the gods knew I’d have trouble
fitting into the dominant system. They did
their best to place me where I could focus
on the work. From the 23rd of August he
began to study at midnight, and through the
winter he continued to rise at one, or at
latest two in the morning, often at twelve.
Primum Mobile; due order, appointed time.
Lentils fed the pyramid builders. Mound
builder as geo-engineer. Castles of Wisconsin.
Antique taco. Doors open on the right at
California. This is Jackson. What is it
about a trombone that makes me want to drink?
To use, or cooperate, with language? The
tone is familiar but the images are alien. The
bubble man explains his process. From the working
of the eye to the manufacture of saws. The cut
in my palm a living memento. A turn in
the sun, cloud like a pine tree. The wall
can choose where it goes, the ramp has a name.
Like G.B. Porta, my interests have caused me
to be viewed with trepidation. Galen took with
him 20,000 little cakes bearing the seal of Diana.
The best provision is piety.

Whit Griffin is the author of Pentateuch (Skysill, 2010) and The Sixth Great Extinction (Skysill, 2012).  His third collection, A Far-Shining Crystal, is forthcoming from Cultural Society.  Recent poems are forthcoming in Brawling Pigeon, Boog City and LUNGFULL! Along with Andrew Hughes he edits Bright Pink Mosquito.  He lives in Memphis.

No comments:

Post a Comment