Poetry: The Weather —Greg Purcell


 When the world is a cloudless sky
And the blue dreams a verb
On the cosmos
For weekslong
I am abject
I am abject
Under that yellow heart

 When the world burrs a spit
From her lips
And the grey hides a pers-
o-nality from herself
Oh I am happy
I am hap- hap- happy
In the rain

 When the air it a-sucks out
All the heat sucks out
The air from the
Little world
And the dry bird
Flocks and
Depends on
Peep-a peep-a then
I am a filth

But when the air’s a glom
On doom she never comes
She never comes
And the grey green brown
Little frogs sink a song
To Earth
And then
So happy
So hap- hap- happy I am

Glom a doom
Yellow heart the birds are
A guy he’s
So happy

 A world
A thing
So ab-
ject , so
Hap- hap-

Greg Purcell’s book, The Fundaments, is out now from Poor Claudia. His chapbooks include The New Music (The Agriculture Reader) and More Fresh Air (Industrial Lunch, in collaboration with David Pritchard). He is a founding member of the Connecticut River Valley Poet’s Theater.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s