we fly in the forest. our seeing the arrow. thieves live here. and the forest is actually a series of forests of different sizes, some lining the floors of others. you put it together. we get smaller and smaller until we’re not even real anymore. night showers us with ratios. we walk a long stair. we know stones, bricks, timbers, the external merge of any two syntactic objects.
published in Ottawa by above/ground press
celebrating twenty-five years of above/ground press
a/g subscribers receive a complimentary copy
Ian Dreiblatt is a poet, translator, genial crackpot, and musician. His previous chapbooks are sonnets (Metambesen) and barishonah (DoubleCross Press), his translations include Comradely Greetings (the prison correspondence of Pussy Riot’s Nadyezhda Tolokonnikova with Slavoj Žižek, Verso), Nikolai Gogol’s The Nose (Melville House), and contributions to Russian Cosmism (Boris Groys, ed., MIT) and Not a Word About Politics (Roman Osminkin, Cicada). Poems have appeared in Conjunctions, Elderly, BOMB, the Agriculture Reader, Pallaksch. Pallaksch., and elsewhere. He lives in Brooklyn, where he takes extravagantly long walks, creates masterful soups, and hopes to run into you soon.
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