Oliver de la Paz
How do you advise a reader to approach these new poems? With a dictionary? A suspended sense of reality? A bit of history? Now is you chance to speak to readers who find this kind of work foreign.
Imagine that each poem is a postcard written in secret to someone whom you love and loathe in equal measure.
These are your salt flats. They lie past the highways, past the towns with gas stations whose names sear the eye in mono-syllable and neon.
Now that Paris, its cobbles and effigies,
And fog and roofs are far enough from my eyes;
Now that I'm beneath the boughs of trees,
And I can muse on the beauty of the skies;
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Topical poem image: Town With Tumbledown Bridge, drawing by Victor Hugo