:: Article

New England Irrelevancies

By Andrew K. Peterson.

After Charles Sheeler

Curving matter felt

A bustle foliage, a dream a cause a windfall farm seeking foliage. The mom and pop got driven. Pan creak apple. I was only thinking and what I’m driving at is town line
counting empty leases. Counting chains with prepped meals. Staying warm in a windfall.

A pop or mom apple pan creeks off the catch-and-release. The case for the lease empty.
Management teems an experiment for empty palette waste managements. Riding to the factory

dream rain into foliage, the management dreams of rain. Drive waste to pan apple creek. Booked
the motel and curving matter felt a hustle into foliage


ape hustle
impossible muscle

why pun the punk
via Petron
or soft skating pink

with interloper’s purpose

hear the walrus
singing in her cave
for those who can’t listen
for there I sing

Possible cloud scale

Floating around on credit, on a cloud of laters.
That dollar store on feral-land calm. Dollop stones curl backward in their shells. Mud husks burp carbon. Floating round waiting sighs in possible cloud scale. Some bind, some burn.
A search is a temporary housing. Who knows what apart meant. I hear power cornering

A fever paved over
guards possibles on a float up to the afters

Together us off this lease.
I forget to where,
just together us out of this.

when the heat descends we diaspora into day jobs

Cover your face if you don’t want your picture taken
or squeeze in for a teepee selfie hack skiffle

When we’re done, the earth returns to raw
Eddie Murphy,
red leather, gone. an offense
as language used to lose
& preserve from the wrong way out

Are you are “from” here, a laced
too beautiful aside, & sad ideal

A star on the wall cut out of itself,
is a bank on every leg
The crickets will discuss
property values

Neither Reps nor Dems
“smoking, or – ?”

The hand comes off the handle
the handle comes off the door

when we walk into the room we have to float like goddesses

They know me but didn’t say it right,
or maybe they didn’t know I knew I had joined them,
knew I became a part of it because they were a part of

when we walk into the room we have to float like goddesses.


Out here in trouble scratching at things I know are there everyone else seems bright enough
to ignore. They put these eyesores in hidden corridors away from houses and reason for a reason.
Another long world out by the canoes.


This reversal
is a cause of our displacement.
Because its stinger has an off switch.
I wonder if I could.

In accordance with implacable
tonight we climb the towers and unfasten


The wound:

a solemn strip of semi-starved authority
a sample target block

a palimpsest of power
a hornet rising to meet the sun

a bell to being rung between solitude and reprieve
swell folds marching up the dial

Peterson Author Pic

Andrew K. Peterson’s poetry books include some deer left the yard moving day (BlazeVox, 2013), karaoke lipsync opera (White Sky, 2012), and Museum of Thrown Objects (BlazeVox, 2010). His chapbook bonjour meriwether and the rabid maps (Fact-Simile Press) was featured in an exhibition on poets’ maps at The University of Arizona’s Poetry Center in 2013. He co-edits summer stock, an online poetry journal, and lives in the Boston area.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Saturday, May 2nd, 2015.