Theodore Worozbyt

Topaz Eye

No traditional valediction, no tracheotomy stuck in the year�s midnight throat. Nor am I myself. The black reed stays and whistles where it should, between labials and larynx. My teeth stick tight. I said I know what you mean by �inner weather,� as if tires had inner tubes or babies believed in veins. The mark on the wall is paint, or is grease painted. One of several clocks arrived under a dome of glass, so like a roasted pheasant in a magazine cartoon that its hands seemed in the filtery morning like strips of blanched bacon hatched over the breastbone of some luxuriant, fragrant and moribund hour. Nothing flies away. All the same, it is foolhardy to pay too close attention to one color. Mites are red in red feathers. As �it� turned out, the record drought record was narrowly averted, as though emptiness were a mappable road. Just as some sad words aren�t, I am not very thirsty but watch me drink now from the brass spigot. They feed from a terra cotta saucer. I said I knew what you meant by your call for a new calculus of zero. I mean is there a mouse in the wall. Or a dog overlooking the credenza with a candle for her eye. And these spiders attached to the sun by the corners of windows, I meant are they orange.

THEODORE WOROZBYT�s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Antioch Review, Best American Poetry, Crazyhorse, The Iowa Review, The Mississippi Review 30 Year Anthology, New England Review, Po&sie, Poetry, Sentence, Shenandoah, The Southern Review, TriQuarterly Online and Quarterly West. He has published two books of poetry, The Dauber Wings (Dream Horse Press, 2006) and Letters of Transit, which won the 2007 Juniper Prize (The University of Massachusetts Press, 2008). A third full length collection, Tuesday Marriage Death, is forthcoming from FutureCycle Press. Impossible Objects appears in the inaugural issue of The Chapbook. His newest chapbook, The City of Leaving and Forgetting, is just out in Country Music.

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