Aaron Anstett lives in southern Colorado. Recently his poems have appeared in Fence, Lumn, and Upstairs at Duroc, among others. His collections are Sustenance, No Accident, and Each Place the Body's. Two chapbooks are forthcoming in 2013 and a full-length collection in 2014.
Even uncertainty not what it seemed
envisioning time-lapse, stop-motion photographs—
Edward Muybridge’s yawn, line of lips sprawled
as behind beard’s smoke-color tumult
unseen strings of neck and jaw draw taut.
Addressee, suspend in air wire armature
through which parabolas of dust motes rotate,
mimicking atoms’ and planets’ orbits,
approaching the shape a mouth makes grinning.
Whence sprung my tragic sense and faith in goofy grandeur?
A constellation, though I trace much back to the invisible
hand of the market fingering my waistband.
Odd consolation, in the infinite continuum
mostly not existing as now I dread and generally fret
less the human condition than my peculiar one in particular.
Matter in its disguises, dissolving at its rates,
one suspects there is this life no shape
some water, cloud or wave, each other’s translation,
however briefly has not approximated.
For my next impression, chronic exhaustion,
signature maneuver in elaborate,
prolonged ploy to become cadaver:
less a man than many renderings
of one flipped through fast.