In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

When I Was In Las Vegas And Saw A Warhol Painting Of Geronimo

When I Was In Las Vegas And Saw A Warhol Painting Of GeronimoI thought We could be related, Andy and I. We’re bothblue walls and yellow cows in a gallery of pristine white. We’re bothscreen prints, off-set and layered. Under exposed. We’re bothsilver clouds filled with helium and polluted rain. We’re bothwhite and blonde and scared of hospitals. Only I’m not really any of those things.

And then I thought We could be related, Geronimo and I. We’re bothcode names for assasinations. We’re both firstnames you yell when you jump from a plane. We’re bothgamblers and dead and neon acrylic brush strokes on screen printed image. Only I’m morelike a neon beer sign sputtering in a tavern window: burned out, broke,a heart with arythmic beats. [End Page 36]

At The Georgia O’Keeffe Museum And Iterations

White Birch, 1925: Oil on Canvas Mounted on Masonite: Painting byGeorgia O’Keeffe

trunks were whitest in the early sunrisesoft curves full, bulbous-like

two bodies and bodyhe walks out of the bathroom in a strut

one slender tentacle, dark, catfish barbO, Great Sphinx of Giza

rooster strut in a high school locker roomi listen to a woman say monkeys cling to fake mothers even if they’re made of wire

White Birch, 1979

i listen to a woman say monkeys cling to fake mothers even if they’re made of wireMerwin wins the Bollingen Prize

luminous snow, angel downcut the umbilical

solar eclipsei am born from it or in anticipation of it: isolation

i cling to anything because you’re new to metiny red catkin riding the wind

White Birch, 1992

tiny red catkin riding the windred swim trunks hang from a branch

in a field of grass, burnt brown, a saplingfound sprouting from the earth

Super Mario Bros 3 anddumpster dive for pornographic magazines [End Page 37]

exploration between my Superman sheetspastoral bedroom with cracked window, plastic tape and insulated

White Birch, 2010

pastoral bedroom with cracked window, plastic tape and insulatedfelled crack pipe in a field of shag carpet

lunar eclipse, pliers on solder and twistshe’s smoking Winter Olympics

use cautionproceed to watch mother drink her liver dead

cracked branch of pipe: gray & black & whiteour mouths a forest of angels lightning toward the moon. [End Page 38]

b: william bearhart

b: william bearhart lives in Wisconsin where he works and writes poetry. He’s an MFA candidate in the Lo Rez program at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Sante Fe, New Mexico. He is a direct descendent of the St. Croix Chippewa of Wisconsin. His work appears or is forthcoming in print and online at PANK, inter/rupture, THEthePoetry, Big Bell, and Poetry City, USA.



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