Eyewear - which will be publishing a novel of his in early 2015 - is very glad to tonight present a new poem by the significant American poet, Alfred Corn.
Mornings, early, others make themselves at differing levels heard and even felt, at least, if you can guess the gist of another life from sound alone. Like the enviable neighbor couple Who shift and stir less than an arm’s
length behind the headboard, their murmurs sifting into consciousness as though no sheetrock intervened. It’s the sonic ambient for one last underwater, shut-eye scenario, which holds until the alarm starts prodding. Downstairs, would that be a he or she who in chilled gloom grinds french roast for the day’s first espresso? And not just once but vibrantly again after what must be a caffeinated interval. Alertness has its downside, though, delivering this thought: the practice of selfhood turns into addiction. Heavy boots not muted by rugs clunk about on the floor above. Months of obstinate slogging guarantee their pac…