Meet in the Corner

What does it mean to be thrown into a body of water when your own body is constantly “dehydrated”? What is a disembodied black hand doing reaching toward the storefront of a Chinatown optician? And what of our own bodies, living in an artfully fabricated world of fireworks juxtaposed with shootings, elephants walking among scuba divers, and poems taking place, then driving by, in a white BMW? The experience begins and ends in a mouth, which is "Speech," or so Robert Creeley reminds us at the end of his poem "The Language:" "I / love you / again, // then what / is emptiness / for. To // fill, fill. / I heard words / and words full // of holes / aching." Johnson writes, “Sway with the tree until you feel better.”