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“Alone I stare into the frost’s white face”

Alone I stare into the frost’s white face.

It’s going nowhere, and I—from nowhere.

Everything ironed flat, pleated without a wrinkle:

Miraculous, the breathing plain.

Meanwhile the sun squints at this starched poverty—

The squint itself consoled, at ease . . .

The ten-fold forest almost the same . . .

And snow crunches in the eyes, innocent, like clean bread.

January 16, 1937

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In the very night of movement where I …

E. Tracy Grinnell

Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much …

William Wordsworth

Consider approach: will remainder be frozen into stylish unknown revealed to chosen few once party reaches peak lit, nobody wants to hear fancy forms, yesterday’s lean, unrealistic schemes although we all like to waste today in funniest way possible, to forget freedom, further from satisfaction than next flame, fam, don’t fight how much you want to light up the sky, night heals then morning reminder of past damage unaccounted then released contract, your hieroglyphic cryptocurrency back on market, no speculation consistent investment, ordinary operation, go head, run, under sun, can’t hide from no one, confident blood etch rigid resolution; without faith within, no ears shall listen, ready to leave before redemption arrived can’t decide to begin as game no longer played, what else is available besides standby reservoir of ancestral rage that sounds like mother cursing out father for all failed to fix, doors closed somehow unlocked, stood on gray square cinder block, holding 10-pound brown dumbbell eating neon orange cheez doodles under red bulb, white light, police blew past, last allowed in silent romance, that replays lonely abandonment, comedic snores before brief words from overseeing sponsor, right back to this enthusiastic obtuse angle crunching ruins presta’o for inebriated amusement enlightened elevation ascending with flutter of majestic ritual, your strained laughter is most beautiful miracle can master, then let that hog cackle faster when next joke dangling like shorty with the face, who got feet I got socks, flabbergasted flummoxed blubbering walrus, thirsty tortoise, angry hyena panting munchiest breath, wistful coqui hoping for more love, but glassy page like empty pond, might be all the amor you get. …

Anthony Morales

i. …

Lesley Harrison

Good morning kiss. Their teeth glance. Clack of June …

Forrest Gander

Had to come in out of the people, …

Sara Miller

He was a good boy …

Lorna Dee Cervantes

The hard part, I grant, in being a god is standing …

Reynolds Price

The glossary

The language about poetry

From aubade to zuihitsu, 207 definitions of the forms, figures, and schools that shape the line.

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