Massachusetts Bay sounds sad, so blue and big, such as a hill passing
the highway. Bay Poetics is a title goosed from some other ether, trial
balloon-sized and after all, we can't all own the sun. the sun ran
behind the blue hill, discussed in terms of praxis and the federated
year. will next year turn callow as we wind the highway up and let it
smooth its association with all blue hills? this is a question for the
end of 2006, when Bay Poetics tries hard for us. is there a bearable way
we can listen to all poems, or only those from the side of the hill and
the blue ocean filling the bay with traces? answers cannot control the
event. Bay Poetics stuck to its principle of pages, and were read aloud
or alone. Stephanie was in charge and that settled only one thing,
correct dawn after night out. then Bay Poetics was austere because even
Oakland crowds tears. and the bay of Massachusetts rose over the hill,
the baying of people who read poems probed the forested hillside as if
lost children were to be found. how do bays accept the ocean? how do
hills accept the sky? Bay Poetics tosses some convivial flower into the
warm ocean and daylights of that coast. winter is in Massachusetts, tho
bought cheap. icebergs falling anywhere are full of frozen cheer. poetry
dumps a load on you know who. thus this story allows itself. you may
serve your Bay Poetics now.
