in the fortnight’s notebook
in the step as somehow retreat
in the one imaginary hole
in this mountainside
in the freckled with refineries
in the buffaloed by this elevated sleep
in the feels like a plastic trick
in the air up here so dry
in the peeling ridgeline off my lips
in the adult camp copied and pasted
in these blanched waysides
in these comparative drips
in this salty gathering of humidifier rains
in an o so big raven my very first and just the landscape
in the timbered artist motel and white energy pavilion
in the buck to trawl me up to my vistas buffet breakfast
in the tarred up relief
in the breadth of the improvement district
in this runneth other carbon sink
in this carved out by glaciers
in the perfect for a few selfies
in this proof I made it alive
and subsidy
David Bradford is the author of Nell Zink Is Damn Free (Blank Cheque Press, 2017), Call Out (knife | fork | book, 2017) and The Plot (House House Press, 2018). He holds an MFA from the University of Guelph and his poetry has appeared in Prairie Fire, Lemon Hound, Vallum, Poetry Is Dead, The Capilano Review, The Unpublished City, and elsewhere. He lives in Verdun, Qc, on the traditional and unceded territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation.
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