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About this poet

Ben Doller (previously Doyle) was born in Warsaw, New York in 1973. He completed his undergraduate education at the State University of New York at Oswego and West Virginia University, and he received an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where he was awarded a Teaching-Writing Fellowship.

He is the author of Fauxhawk (Wesleyan University Press, 2015), Dead Ahead (Fence Books, 2010), FAQ (Ahsahta Press, 2009), and Radio, Radio (Louisiana State University Press, 2001), which was selected by Susan Howe for the 2000 Walt Whitman Award

Doller has taught at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, West Virginia University, and Denison University, and he served as the Distinguished Visiting Professor at Boise State University in 2007. He is coeditor of the Kuhl House Contemporary Poetry Series at the University of Iowa Press, and is vice editor and designer of 1913 a journal of forms and 1913 Press.

He is an associate professor at the University of California, San Diego, and lives in North Park, San Diego.

Selected Bibliography


Fauxhawk (Wesleyan University Press, 2015) 
Dead Ahead (Fence Books, 2010)
FAQ (Ahsahta Press, 2009)
Radio, Radio (Louisiana State University Press, 2001)

Parochial Poetry

whiter I make it when walking right in
unswerved, sweating fluorescent bleach,
preaching a moon page that says its welts:
learn this by heart is empty but do it
to do it. I make it somehow whiter, zombied
and I opified allover the absolutely
whitest room. I say keep your lines in line
and look at me now just lining them,
some flogged orthodoxen, ploughed
down sillion shiny sacerdotal lines
I'm supposed to like and looky I do.
I like what I like. I just like what I like.
I like to say look: dissident anachronistics,
shambolic stuff in master rows but look
at me. I even early balded to enhance
the interrogation. I meander in and form more
order. I like to point with my pointer, to
indicate. The most afraid I like to get is
a little bit. I app my accounts and survey
the advantage. I tower under.
I oxiclean the ivory. I shower and shower.
I dig on fonts. I wake up singing I say
never start with that but one morning
I wake up singing the Fat Boys. I wikipede
The Fat Boys. One of them is no longer.
The other is no longer fat. I assess the Human
beatbox via a Schwittersian optic.
I exercise my massive rights. I have the right
to remain. I remain. I interview just
like a glacier. I hand dance. I like just
what I like. My skin is white not. It fits
just tight. It burns on will. My horizon
is fungible. My will is like whatever.
My SPF is infinity. People seem to like
me. I was just born just this way.

Copyright © 2012 by Ben Doller. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2012 by Ben Doller. Used with permission of the author.

Ben Doller

Ben Doller

Ben Doller is the author of Fauxhawk (Wesleyan University Press, 2015). He is an associate professor at the University of California, San Diego, and lives in North Park, San Diego.

by this poet


Just want things

Just things,
not all.

Not kings, kings
should be below:

shoveling, dripping,
and most of all—

literally speaking—
not people

nothing living
need be within our ratio.

I underexaggerate,


Lick the lights. Everyone 
says that here. Sometimes 
they'll call a spade a shovel, 
hollowing half a hole, 
which is all I have to sleep inside.

There's one

arboretum running 
underground from near here 
to Verisimilitude City. 
I measure the macrocosm 
with miles of mint string. Flossing

the dunning
When I bend back to gaze at the satellite convulsions, I
am an aqueduct for twilit rain. Quite literally I stand

in the littoral zone: a lens--no an aqueous humor, my
feet on the land below the high-water mark, my hand

a glazed waver: hello light-purple lights, hello red spots,
you've beaten the stars out