Crass Acrostic for Classy Times

Stuart Ross (total sell-out) is curating an open series called 2017 Inaugural Poem. All poems must follow a certain form, which even clever and erudite readers will deduce.

It started up today, and already has poems from local titan Michael Dennis and myself.

Poets: don’t overthink this. Just write one, and send it along. This is the new BENGHAZHI. We need lots of these. Lets all cry and laugh.

~

In other news, I’ll have two new poems coming out early in 2017. In January, I will have a poem in Bywords about living in Ottawa’s Lowertown neighbourhood as someone with an MA and an an RRSP. In March, I will have a poem in (parenthetical), the periodical put out by words(on)pages press in Toronto. That one is adapted from one of the poems from my spring writing marathon, but I won’t say which. I’m very happy to be both of these fine mags, both of which have great online presences, and both of which had featured my work once before.

The Ends of Civilization

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It is a slash year. The crews saw west
grimacing the border. By Oregon/BC, the Vermont/
Quebec gap chews sapling. How many thousand miles
or kilometres back did we last crack
“Coast Guard Moses got it made.”

It is the election year, the one we learned
the atomic weight of words, figured how many
could carry a razor. The Earth’s longest border
its largest, most harmless scar.
Every six years, no one speaks of

the crew threading coast, from Maine/Nova Scotia
camp-stove and credit card fully-fueled.
From just high enough, ants chisel away forest.
A crawling sensation. Handmade imperfection. Law.

***

For National Novel Writing Month, I’m writing a poem a day. They may wind up with a overarching narrative, they may not. I’m receiving daily prompts from my partner, and new poems should be published the day after they are written. The prompt for today’s poem was the Slash, the 20-foot-wide gap in the treeline demarcating the Canada-US border.

Photo Source: Vermont Seven Days