Issue 6 |
January 31, 2022
Image by John Kazior
This is a sonnet about clarity.
Some poets say clarity consists of
An image they see. Scarlet tanager
Rioting on the little branch. Some say
It’s what they think. Fuck the fucking police.
Others still say it’s a sound. Ding. Drop drip.
Who cooks for you. Others want to capture
Reality’s fleet disorder, proxy
For whatever they believe that to be.
I’ll love you forever. Our time is up.
I could go on. Clarity like open
Windows, clean windows, no windows at all.
Daniel Poppick is the author of Fear of Description (Penguin, 2019), a winner of the National Poetry Series, and The Police (Omnidawn, 2017). His poems appear in The New Republic, Chicago Review, BOMB, Harper's, Poetry, and elsewhere. He lives in Brooklyn, where he works as a copywriter and co-edits the Catenary Press.
