Spool 8

Matthew Cooperman



brachial harp hand

touches of strum

my helix leaf

fall and widening

gyres of atmosphere

a monk’s spring

a pebbled somnium

casting prayer hum

or farmer in

fields carving wheat

runs through his

frequency turning bright

Deere its green

and yellow motion

a part of

the field’s design

bending blending the

greens see seasons

on a wheel

by an ox

plow all elbows

and waddles now

child runs through

black budgie veil

the gleaning we

grow our ears

glorious shells they

are bright science

branching harvest chir

of wind the

snare drone rattles

our are instrument

an apposite hum

of finches or

grooves or eyes

of a fox

look up look

up look up






or fire’s flare

to singe hair

a dream not

quite very real

this plume flame

that cinders trees

a ridge alight

and we aghast

the cylinder flare

some 200 meters

accentual gasp that

matters the matter

we are alive

in ashy tatters

or fresh burrs

dike rises up

and the sill

stretches across we

are conveyered and

we’re also convexed

but the cave

the cave of

our ideal dreams

seems to linger

in history and

seethe the tendons

our tendency to

believe nature’s kind

is just indifference

to inhuman ways

keep on with

the garden hose

our meek prayers





Matthew Cooperman is the author of Still: of the Earth as the Ark which Does Not Move (Counterpath Press, 2011), DaZE (Salt Publishing Ltd, 2006) and A Sacrificial Zinc (Pleiades/LSU, 2001), winner of the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Prize, as well as three chapbooks, Still: (to be) Perpetual (dove | tail, 2007), Words About James (phylum press, 2005) and Surge (Kent State University Press, 1999). A founding editor of Quarter After Eight, and current poetry editor of Colorado Review, he teaches at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, where he lives with the poet Aby Kaupang and his two children. More information can be found at www.matthewcooperman.com