Douglas Piccinnini

Bio: Douglas Piccinnini's work has appeared or is forthcoming with Afternoon Visitor, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Dreginald, Hot Pink Magazine, Lana Turner, Maiden Magazine, Michigan Quarterly Review and Prelude. A chapbook, The Grave Itself, is just out from The Ethel Press and A Western Sky is forthcoming with Greying Ghost. Previously, Douglas is the author of Victoria (Bloof Books), Blood Oboe (Omnidawn) and Story Book: a novella (The Cultural Society).

[like the book of evening put down]

“like the book of evening put downthere is another life to beginas speech empties the space between constellationsa backward logic colors all”
the way I know: sky became meaning at dusklike another life you beginunexpectedly no single action is centrallike silence refit into a singular space—
the sea line and all comethe sea line and all go awaymove me from my focus
“don’t let me suffergive me the words to say what I mean”

[The promise of a repeated note]

The promise of a repeated note. Soon, long is so faraway from mistake. Sun the same in a field the same.
Here comes this bloodbeat song. Here is nobody and no body’s song. I looked up in history
one unchanged wheelbent song—no one likes to say, “I am wrong.”

[No one falls asleep]

No one falls asleep and no one way of careful thinkingwrings right the dream.
Self-containment, suffocation, the occasional kick beneath the sheetsmeans an overlay of texturesoverfill the days.
Money, no money—
say where to speak and breakthe clockhands as my own.
The hands of a prisoner speaking up.
Don’t let them hit you.Don’t let them take you apart.

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