By Alex Dupree
The knot of the oak tree, the burnt toast, the tortilla, things keep generating images. Uncast shadows keep appearing.
A hurricane destroyed the bridge, now pilgrims gather in the clearing. Things keep speaking for themselves.
Even after fascination, after we’ve gone, ungraven images spontaneously keep appearing.
The woodgrain, the oil slick, the cloth with godly likenesses are leering. Things keep speaking for themselves.
Even our bodies stupefied still move unbidden, persevering. Things keep speaking for themselves. Uncast shadows keep appearing.
Alex Dupree, M.F.A. ’16, is a musician and teacher living in Los Angeles. He earned a B.A. in English at the University of Texas and is a lecturer in UCI’s Composition Program. He won Southern Poetry Review’s 2016 Guy Owen Prize, and his work is forthcoming in Field magazine.