Sunday Poem

THE LOVE SONG OF J. ACER TRAVELMATE

Come. Dressed for a honeymoon. Like a mango
sculpted to a blossom, impaled. Learn to tango

because it’s a damn good investment. Be strong
as a rubber. For you, every lover will be wrong.

Don the hubris of a blonde. Cavort like a brunette.
Anticipate the Russian in the spin of chat roulette.

Accept ennui, Bleu Nuit, double Texas hold ‘em.
Give in absolutely to the carpal tunnel syndrome.

Because insomnia isn’t just a marketing strategy.
Buy the decaffeinated bottle of Five-hour Energy.

Forget cyborg, sybian, Berkley Horse and Trojan.
Because one curiously clumsy click hurts no one.

In every phallic object, the symbol is clear-cut:
silicone conifer, hairy hardwood, leather chestnut.

Crave this apotheosis of a plastic prosthesis.
Because. Because. Because. Because. Because.

Because of the wonderful things it does. Follow
the email migration of the chain mail manifesto.

Be a Pay Pal. Pop your Paxil. Spatter melted candle.
Train your brain to feel nerve endings in a pixel.

Stretch your skin on webcam. Be an austere host.
Because you are bound by the mouse to the bedpost.

By Daniel Renton, from Milk Teeth (Frog Hollow Press, 2016) 

Knuckleball Poetics

Over at Maisonneuve, Danny Jacobs and Daniel Renton trade some banter about new collections by Jason Guriel and Dani Couture. One of the best moments in the exchange belongs to Renton:

I do wonder if Guriel’s well-made box may be a bit of a ruse—his poems might be closer to being Chinese finger traps. That is, toys that snare unsuspecting victims who misunderstand their serious mission: to encourage us to relax our grandiose poetic posture and enjoy the play of language. Take this string of lines from “Knuckleball:" “its bottleneck— / the chewed-over / or coughed-up / or otherwise / indigestible morsel / of food for lines, / wobbly ones, / of thought.” Notice the purposely wound up syntax? The poem so mimics R. A. Dickey at the plate it practically wears a Blue Jay’s jersey.