Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Stanford Cheung, THE WORD REN

Ho|ma|ge to the Blue Sonata, image by Daniel Y. Harris 


In the blues
shaping glyphic humans,

courage upon the arrival of western birds,
      knitting one
           to each other,
     among vast pewter


sheer density              across winds
of gravel                     these little travelers,
picking up                  learning so
much                          about society,
even lies                     became an


Dipped in mosaic orange, species nesting

a litter from afar, just how many words form

trousers. I said trousers iron a hook, baiting

human’s symbolism.

Half in tune                        the unity
of squeals, arched bridges hung the neck

of the sky, I can
now envision clearly.

A fuse.


Drink from roomy tubes.

Eye it like I who
          fiddles with contexts,
cited when above,


that of flesh,     
        which cleansed salty upon lifelines,

in the     ( c  l   o    u     d     s)

my head proud strumming the neck

of geese just loving how brave you were.

—Stanford Cheung

Stanford Cheung is a poet and musician from Toronto. He is the author of Structures from the Still (Akinoga Press, 2018). His chapbooks include Any Seam or Needlework (The Operating System, 2016) and Kite Extension (Words(on)Pages, 2017) and Comfort of Malice (Inspiritus, 2018). He resides in Montreal.

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