Ali Power     


from A Poem for Record Keepers



“Let’s hang out.” —Anonymous


Sometimes when I eat I feel like I’m suffering.

It forms along the edges.

Of bad readings and baggage claims.

A longitudinal swirl of pearl-pins on the hems.

Of my lineage.

You like my ass.

Let’s hang out.



Are you the type of person who knows things?

Do you wonder what children do?

There’s an omelet on your chest.

There are rivers and oceans still hiding.

There are flowers.

All the dinosaurs are dead.

Let’s hang out.



Studies gauge the effects of divorce on children.

There is nowhere, but we have commas.

Count them at breakfast.

Unfold / refolding / print.

“I wish there was a war.”

Alexander Hamilton wrote in 1769.

Let’s hang out.



As you drop into it you call it darkness.

It’s talking too much.

Its smoothness carries you.

Toward on and on…and on.

And so on.

Blah blah.

Let’s hang out.



Everything is just beginning.

Everything is comprehensible.

Take, for example, Utah.

Until you break it down.

It’s like that proverb says.

I’m so fucking bored.

Let’s hang out.



My head’s on a loop, large and/or.

I can’t tell.

Its ecstatic circumference unknown.

Like a fire’s spreading in the cosmos.

Enabling its condition I laugh when shit becomes too much.

But more.

Let’s hang out.



Don’t take it personally.

Your personal abyss.

I don’t understand the meaning of equilibrium.

Or the anamorphousness of our selves, say.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

I will fuck up your life.

Let’s hang out.


Ali Power is an editor at Rizzoli International Publications and teaches literature at Pace University. She is co-editor of the forthcoming volume Neon In Daylight: The New York School Painters & Poets (Rizzoli, Fall 2014). Power's poems have appeared in Forklift, Ohio, Washington Square, Post Road, Painted Bride Quarterly, and Argos Books’s Little Anthology, among others. Her chapbook YOU AMERICANS was published by Green Zone Editions.