December 6, 2008

elisabeth workman



Pour $100,000 champagne plus a kilo
of honey over the city of Reykjavík.

Call it a yacht, a leak, a cataract of
angel juice gushing and still famished.

We were left in the scarcity terminal
with an aura strictly American.

A real killjoy depleted of Billy the Kid
reduced to cynical art timers of hunger.

Strike thousands of years of living together
you say it was like pouring everything out

in the way that rocks are documentary
Los Angeles oozing quasi-imaginary

epochs of icy blankness blinking
into being the ancestral city rim.

Beauty brain freeze the proper noun
walking barefoot over diamonds

the world rolling in ecstasy at its feet.


Elisabeth Workman's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in fourW, Absent, Alice Blue Review, and West Wind Review, among others. Her chapbooks include _a city_a cloud_ (Dusie 2006) and _Opolis_ (Dusie 2007). She works for a visual art museum in Minneapolis.

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