Issue 33.2
Fall 2004

Sueyeun Juliette Lee

 

silence meant that there were disconnections in the atmosphere, the inner hairs of my ears
curling into themselves without a quiver or lightest touch of alarm. plenary attitudes detach,
disengage themselves from the white washed walls striking poses in the afternoon.

distance meant that there were spaces you don’t recognize, regardless firelight, regardless
signpost, regardless red arthritic line in the spaces of creased, dusty folds. true north was as
indistinct as a true meridian. fox glove grows straight. poison ivy shines. hyacinths have not yet
bloomed.

alone on the equator in full collapse, the dizzy question writes itself on the ground. silently
bending to give shape, attempt to vocalize, the earth’s drifting weight is far too much for any
thing to make sense.

the wind wants a field of clover but mountains have to raise their heads. for even the ozone
layer this is something of a tragedy. nothing can stand still without breaking into waves.

 

Sueyeun Juliette Lee grew up three miles from the CIA and currently lives in Denver, where she works as the Program Director for Chinook Fund. A former Pew Fellow in the Arts for Literature in Poetry, her poetry books include That Gorgeous Feeling (Coconut, 2008), Underground National (Factory School 2011), Solar Maximum (Futurepoem 2015), and No Comet, That Serpent In the Sky Means Noise (Kore Press, 2017) as well as numerous chapbooks. She has held residencies at Casa Libre en la Solana (Arizona),  Kunstnarhuset Messen (Norway), Hafnarborg (Iceland), and UCross Foundation (Wyoming) for poetry and video art. Find her at silentbroadcast.com.

FM
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