Song of Your Pluck

This poem has been drawn from the February / March issue of the American Reader, available here.

Your pluck is not refreshment
of honey—
                                    it is [una puerta]
beside jumping into the world


nor is it the down escalator of [podlenky]
and/or [pesadilla]—
                                    to reproach a lost generation


it is not an escapement
to the dirty [aah’ali]  where you enter
O light!  O ditch!


Your pluck is [la] polka dot [di smemoratezza]
blindly recognizing
a beloved in every [zalyotye]—
                                    every [dégringolade]


your pluck is a flock of goats moving
[zigzaguilllmento] down the downslope
of good before & after.
May you prink with your hoofs
and all your flair
until [Mexico]!




Vocab for Today
puerta:  door, port, spark, sham
podlenky:  horizon woven out of blue things and arguments not able to be proven;
the blue eyebrows of Poseidon
pesadilla:  nightmare, green fluorescent protein
aah’ali:  parade
smemoratezza:  forgetfulness; thin grass
zalyotye:  bird blood
dégringolade:  a sudden slanting of the rational plane of life
zigzaguilllamento: straight; on June 5th
Mexico:  long time

The American Reader stopped publishing in 2015.
This is a living archive of our work.