|Publisher:||Godine, David R. Publishers, Inc.|
|Product dimensions:||5.90(w) x 8.95(h) x 0.69(d)|
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You think it's one color but it's not. Closer and closer the folds appear not a deeper blue grey but a heavier one and finally just inches above the trees it's a small bright seam full of smoke, not really bright but allowing the day as much as it needs.
* * *
There's this gesture where one part of god is pointing at the other part. The fingers of the sky, a day diving down a hill in which you feel accepted.
* * *
All the sex radicals and the buildings, brown and grey and green tipped on Columbus Day heading to Liberty and I saw a yellowish sky probably dirty and blue scooped clouds with a thin plane slipping through like a tiny neon fish in my aquarium when I was ten. The fish pokes through a series of brighter white and pale blue veils of sky it's the bouncing ball of my eye. Grabs of smoke, glistening balls of clouds so still and just hovering over the knotty landscape of buildings popping up. And something chimed as we move through the water.
* * *
There are the stripes of my day the lines that cross the streets that carry me
the knowing language of the almost night the cough of the throat the pressing blue I'm pressing through
* * *
Jonathan's back from the country of Tod and I'm back too.
You get out of work on Irving Place, I mean everyone at dusk in this long pause and then the green eye
an old game board of lurches and howls
I should be so
secure while I'm riding
We deliver Coors He's dead. Matthew Shepard's simply gone
little scarecrow with his scarecrow desire
Excerpted from SKIES by Eileen Myles. Copyright © 2001 by Eileen Myles. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.