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Recorded for Poem-a-Day, December 8, 2015.
About this Poem 

“‘Saturn.1’ is part of the serial poem ‘Width of a Witch’ written in Marfa, Texas, while I was on a Lannan Foundation Fellowship. The series was written inside a (Soma)tic poetry ritual titled ‘Marfa Poetry Machine in 36 Things’ where I did thirty-six things a day for thirty-six days, such as honoring living poets each morning, carrying a sweet potato around town dressed in a purple glitter skirt, and getting on the floor to follow along with video footage of the experimental dancer Mary Wigman’s ‘Witch Dance’ like a workout video for the soul!”
—CAConrad

Saturn.1


                                                                butterfly on a tissue box
                                                                            not a real one
                                                                                  a painting
                                                                                 a monarch
                                                                           one more sign
                                                                                for anguish
                                                                               poured and
                                                              poured a choice to feel or
                                  stack bricks between
                                      I was sad when my
             talented friend started designing
                  television             commercials
                                       he told me to grow up
                                       but the rocks in the desert I touch
                                       signal an endless new place something
                                       without money saying “never tire of
                                       demanding love for the world”

Copyright © 2015 by CAConrad. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 8, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2015 by CAConrad. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 8, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.

CAConrad

CAConrad

Born on January 1, 1966, CAConrad describes himself as "the son of white trash asphyxiation whose childhood included selling cut flowers along the highway for his mother and helping her shoplift."

by this poet

poem

                                 
                                  what was it you
                                  wanted us to
                                  say after you died 
it’s awful without you making sound exist
                                you said ponder this

poem

—for John Coletti & Jess Mynes

Visit the home of a deceased poet you admire and bring some natural thing back with you. I went to Emily Dickinson's house the day after a reading event with my friend Susie Timmons. I scraped dirt from the foot of huge trees in the backyard into a little pot. We then drove

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One

i’m going in for
a CAT scan i
mean an audition
for an opera
will it finally
break into
Two paths
this suffering One is tiresome
every gentle piece
of marble in
the sun was
once beaten
into shape
this doesn’t
work with people
take many deep