Jeffrey Harrison: Stalinesque
We don’t recognize our own country,
and our words don’t carry more than ten feet,
but the snippets that can still be made out
are all about the Emperor Felonius.
Jeffrey Harrison: Disconcerting
The word became the mantra of
her last few years, which were, in fact,
often disconcerting: her descent
into dementia, her cancer diagnosis,
her fall, her fractured hip.
Jeffrey Harrison: The Mount
the blue-jeaned ass of the one on top
moving up and down, pelvis cramming
noiselessly into the rump of the one
underneath, whose vacant eye
caught mine for an instant as I walked past
Jeffrey Harrison: The Light in the Marsh Grass
we gave up trying to explain it, gave ourselves
to it—as if we had ingested some hallucinogen
that opened our eyes to what was there all along
Jeffrey Harrison: Ektachrome Days
The way it turned everything blue
even bluer
like the north wind
on days like today
Jeffrey Harrison: Double Visitation
There I was with my father again alive
walking around the back yard together,
and I hardly noticed that it wasn’t our back yard
or that he looked like he was in his fifties.
