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November 7, 2008 The New School, New York City From the Academy Audio Archive

only gray rocks with drifting mist...

Rusty Morrison

 

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Rusty Morrison

by this poet

poem

No sensation of falling, which suggests that this condition may be flight.

My eyes might be open or not. My coffee poured into a cup or

onto the countertop. This, a ball of saved rubberbands or the thick clot of tremors

I usually keep deep in the drawer that I can trust will stick

when I

poem

I might travel his death a creaking and swaying beneath me stop
there are static expressions freed now and passing along the walls stop
an object isn’t what is hidden but what smiles out from the hiding please

with only the slightest effort I might abandon

poem

I was dragging a ladder slowly over stones stop
it was only from out of my thoughts that I could climb stop
not from the room please

my father's dying offered an indelicate washing of my
perception stop   
the way the centers of some syllables scrub