Friday, February 02, 2007

Now Available: Thanks for Sending the Engine, by Elisa Gabbert


You can’t invent a color, only name it,
like how I just named those contrails Benjamin
and then the sky behind them Benjamin II.
Now, retronymically, I refer to Ben as Ben I.
If he becomes famous, they’ll stop calling
clouds “clouds” and call them “nonlinear
clouds” or “pre-Benjamin” for clarity.
I can think about fame all day, and
compose apologies for my friends’ friends
who I’ve variously snubbed, write them
into emails with personalized P.S.’s:
P.S. My love for you extends forever
in all directions, or sometimes seems to.
P.S. I include a swatch of Yves Klein blue.
P.S. If the sky is a piano store and clouds
are baby grands, we just hang out in the back
and listen to a Casiotone’s preprogrammeds.
P.S. This P.S. is my email’s last will
and testament. It’s leaving everything
to you. P.S. Like my love for you,
like the infinite crystalline watchface of
God of the sky, my email will never die.

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At 2:51 AM, Blogger Tao Lin said...

i don't think you're flarf

i don't know

maybe you are

i'll have a fifteen-hundred hour, 28-month discussion about it with over 14 MFA poetry classes about it, then i'll come back here and tell you if you are flarf or not

At 2:52 AM, Blogger Tao Lin said...

i said 'about it' twice



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