Word Choice features original works of fiction and poetry. Read two poems by Samuel Amadon, with art by Matthew Brandt, selected by Daniel Moysaenko.

 

WHAT IS GOOD APPEARS, WHAT APPEARS IS GOOD

 

I pull the knife from my throat, walk into

            heavy sands, seas, a long line flashes,

rises and warns, or we see to put it off.

            A spider hung by its own or some other’s—

that works with I’m present for it

            in the basement, changing fuses or shelving

boxes, empty, flattened. Is there a private

            revolution not worth attention? Since

my cup’s not smaller. Since a cat encircles

            my legs. Since I get all human on the couch

with maturation, slip the door into baby

            a little bit more. There’s no metaphor in

memorizing the state capitols, or it’s probably

            rank behind my ears—would you

scratch them in the middle–school parking lot?

            Recovery’s not a fetish, but a bliss I’ll go

sick for. Staggered the alleyway,

            or staggering, a knife down my throat, I

couldn’t bother in line, in a summer stale

            with winds that unwind May, April.

I’d rather work again. Sweat moving, not

            pools around unshaven neck fat flexed for

the sound of trees, the life

            of the trade. While what won’t come about,

the cat turns her head in, sleeps a bit longer

            in a place where she knows

we can find, but it’s better if we have to try.

Read full article =>