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About this Poem 

“Like most of my poems, ‘Lie’ has several sources: I read a very troubling book called The Sixth Extinction. I took note of the way people, including me, enjoy talking knowledgeably about how the world will end. I drove to Tucson and saw the desert flowering on either side of the road. And I glanced at my spam to see what people wanted to sell me these days.”

—Rae Armantrout

Lie

1

I lay down
the acidification
of the ocean
with a sly smile.

Unstoppable
beats fiery impact
every time.

*

But the sweet yellow
shoulders of the road—

the up and up
into same blossom.

I'd like to hold these
in reserve.

2

“Protect your identity”
says Mileage.com
three times today
as if it knew something.

I may want to fly cheap,
cruise in luxury,
buy a walk-in-tub
and burial insurance.

*

I may want to lie still
and think about my choices.

Copyright @ 2014 by Rae Armantrout. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on May 27, 2014.

Copyright @ 2014 by Rae Armantrout. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on May 27, 2014.

Rae Armantrout

Rae Armantrout

Rae Armantrout was born in Vallejo, California, in 1947, and was part of the first generation of Language poets on the West Coast. She is the author of Partly: New and Selected Poems, 2001–2015 (Wesleyan University Press, 2016); Itself (Wesleyan University Press, 2015).

by this poet

poem

    1

She went around pre-registered
for her own eventual absence.

Not that she believed
her self-estrangement
would save her,
whatever that meant,

but she hoped
that registering this estrangement
with the proper authorities
might still


    2

2
poem

Reading, we are allowed to follow someone else’s train of thought as it starts off for an imaginary place. This train has been produced for us—or rather materialized and extended until it is almost nothing like the ephemeral realizations with which we’re familiar. To see words pulled one by one into existence is to

poem

            1

To each his own
severance package.

The Inca
hacked large stones
into the shapes of
nearby peaks.

 

            2

The eerie thing
is that ghosts don’t exist.

Rows
of clear droplets
hang from stripped twigs

instead.