Skip to content →

The Sun also Fizzles

What’s this place, between

geography and evening? The sun

also bludgeons; a car has three wheels;

and what’s the wrong way to break

that brick of truth back into music?

Money belongs together. I’m right

where I wanted to leave me. Rain

belongs together. At mirror,

I’ve neither me believed.

I’ve come covered in arena dust,

my mouth a sleeve’s end,

meatless. I’ve come somewhat up,

and I’m here to lick

the static from the ground.

Twice, I’ve been evidence of,

if anything, my breathing.

Not particular, I’ve pissed against

a cage, pretending wind.

Swallowed whole, a songbird might

could claw back through the hawk—

or so I’ve thought.

The choosing of a word

might be its use, the only poem.

from A Mouth in CaliforniaFind more by Graham Foust at the library

Copyright © 2009 Graham Foust
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Graham Foust Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

css.php