2 June 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 2
from The Constraints of Architecture
Can't see the field for the easel. Sometimes the easel
Is a mirror and you're fixing your hair. Sometimes this eddy
Of air carries the canvas into the woods, the tongue of a bear
In your pocket. Chasing it, you stop and think:
"Those trees contain a form I might
Someday admire," "Those torsos
Are mighty fine," or "This bathtub has been the place
Of many a good weep" and all apply
As grasshoppers swarm around your face until the sound
Of a yodel streams from the inside a tree! "Hello, yodel," you say.
Yes, that is the curve of a lover's back you see in the shadow
Of a tree, mossy blonde hair on the small of her back,
Her thighs and youth turned to bark. It's
Rewarding—your face flat here in the vortex of distraction.
About the author:
Adam Clay co-edits Typo Magazine. He has poems in Black Warrior Review, Octopus, 88, and elsewhere.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Adam Clay at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 4, No. 2, where "from The Constraints of Architecture" ran on June 2, 2004. List other work with these same labels: poetry.