Adam Strauss lives in Las Vegas, and has a full-length collection of poems For Days, out with BlazeVox press, poems in the recently released anthology The Arcadia Project (Ahsahta Press), as well as poems out in Word For/Word, the Laurel Review, Spork and Interim, and Verse.
When the torpor switched
Its ditch, and in the process
Of abandoning a bevy
Picked up a fleet of responsibilities,
It became clear to the girl,
Looking in the mirror which is the marble
Dressed side of this
Building, that she must cut
Her hair to ragged licks and
Douse her throat in spangles.
The World Is Good
The gilderings of gone taught him dispel with
That Great Nostalgia, The Past, but want and can
Cancel each to each in the elegance of an X.
As moon lights mud, the silver welled in divots
Seems an orb fallen from the sadness of the moon,
A condensation from its hot, concentrated sense.
Phantoms from the future, prolepsis of a past on
The cusp of oncoming epoch, ride glottal propulsion
Intuition can't counter nor concur. Finally, now.
Madonna On The Radio In My Mind
By these terms, by the urns of diluvia turned dialectical—cross of arcana, plausible topography and self-cancelling chiasmus—there are no ways for me to wriggle, which does not suit my sense of self-importance and is, thus, more even than the trials and jackings of struggles for literacy, most inopportune, to the point where, I'd like to believe you agree, you're glad there's an elk less than two hundred miles away from where we are.