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User's Guide to Physical Debilitation 1
My Life Among 3
Airport Letter 1 5
Rented Dark 6
Poem Written to Replace Another 8
Poem Written outside Wintry Mix 10
Audio Commentary Track 1 12
Loyalty Oath 14
A Brief History of History 16
My Past 17
Early in a New Year 18
My Crush 19
The Lives of the Optimists 20
One More Theory about Happiness 21
Eulogy 22
Valentine 23
To-Do List 24
Towards a Theory of Proximity 25
Elegiac Forecast 27
Remember How Sad That Was When 28
Things We Agreed Not to Shout 29
Audio Commentary Track 2 30
My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge 32
Oblivion: Letter Home 1 38
Oblivion: Letter Home 2 40
Oblivion: Letter Home 3 42
Poison 44
Regarding Your Applications for Many Imaginary Positions 45
Job 46
My Nightmare 48
Bad Mood 49
Accent 51
My Arms 52
Preemptive Elegy 53
Airport Letter 2 55
Travel 56
Semi-Apocalyptic R.S.V.P. with Contingencies 58
Seduction with Monomyth 61
Bordering on the Tragic 63
Elegy for the Plesiosauron the Advent of Its Predicted Return 64
Praise 66
At Night, in November, Trying Not to Think of Asphodel 68
Beginning in the Lost and Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro, Alabama 70
Austria 72
Elegy for the Lumbering Monster 74
A Long Time I've Wanted to Say Something 76
My Luck 78
My Mock-Scale Dream 80
| Price | Condition | Delivery | Seller | Action |
| $99.99 | Digital |
| WonderClub |
Nick Mutascio
reviewed My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge on November 13, 2015
My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge
When asked
to name what I couldn't live without
were I marooned on a desert island,
I say viable organs. Not a book and its pages
slipping from cheap binding
and not an album
that's not an album
but summer's totem forever
and not one deft lover
and not the red ringlets
of her hair let down in a grotto beside the sea.
To be consigned there,
to that island, that home
to the fetish of consolation,
is nothing I ever want
to want. To be stripped of desire
as if it were a bandage.
But here in the night made of alarms,
a train shambles
through the dark
and it's hard to hear the trees speaking
the language we made
for them. Or I did,
thinking of you
who taught me regret.
There are nights when I dream
of stolen oranges.
How we ran away with the sun in our arms.
And there are nights
when I can't speak,
not even to the wind
in the strange tongue of the dark pine trees.
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