by Jon Davis
Yesterday’s snow falling again
and already. Falling steadily
among the vowels, the tall consonants.
Alertnesses scumbling among the cabbages.
The eyebrowed jay named by a man named
for a star. Stellar’s. When I say the word
the pleasure happens on my palate
and I am never the same person again.
Smoke. Granular. Piñon. Clouds
slumping into the valleys. The idea of snow.
The actual idea. On the snow-encrypted
branches: bird-skitter. Then bird.
Courtesy viva_gloria, the Viggo Premiere article and commentary:
Q: What do you think makes you sexy?
VM: I don't really know how to deal with that question. I'm sure there are just as many people who think I'm a grizzled hack.
Q: I guess Brad Pitt's the pretty boy type of hunk and you're the, you know ...
VM: ... the grizzled hack version? Do you think we should play brothers or something?
Q: You should.
VM: Or lovers?
Q: Maybe lovers. Yeah.
VM: You think people would pay to see that?