Fog Gorgeous Stag by Sean Lovelace

If ever there were a reason to learn all of the rules, it’s certainly to break them. These are hybrids: versions of things you think you know, but you don’t. The whole thing is graffiti. Lovelace forces the question, “Wait; can you do that here?” Some are numbered, some are titled, some are numbered and titled. Prayers and letters and documents. Lists and questions and blank spaces. Fragments and brackets. It’s somehow timeless, despite plenty of pop references. Almost like he was of the New York School poets and they kicked him out. Some of it is confusing, of course, on purpose. And because of that, it makes perfect sense, [listen: we are basically produce, a bag of produce—open us to / sweet air, and we will soon melt / or murk]. Lovelace is messing with us, for sure, but it’s good for us. It’s a reminder of how oddly serious we all are; how, we need to stop being that way. But also, it’s a confirmation of how powerful words can be: they are hot—sometimes they shouldn’t be touched.

-Micah Ling