James Capozzi


Homage Queneau

Night: a slab
The Moor: comes close, a hex, an agony
Night: a slab


Autumn: the native wife with scimitar scathes
an agile, opened heart

Night's real snake, its arc-hot star
& God between two crosses scratches
arcane letters in–my vault & view, revolt & vowel


The wide night spits a world out
This wide night kicks, it spits


The night is a cursed world:


everything's itinerant, even its colossal mount

of Night


The Centaur
Homage Queneau

The centaur began
   when man did
the yellow centaur–
   its ton floats undersea
of uncertain origin


A little riot, isolate
   endless in its canter
between two homes
   brings lurid forest
into balance


Condemned to certain derision
   (my MO, my memoir)
the centaur
   spirals its recycled life through sky


with a jaguar bound
and balanced in its arms
   (that sphere of pain)

fearing its unruly word



Homage Queneau

Adieu bridge like a horizon
with stairs and a scar and an arch
with infamous paints, red balustrade
Adieu bridge I bang feet on


Adieu tall chalet
your mauve torture, violent grays
your bent and sainted Haitian radio
Adieu chalet of the sweet potato


Adieu vile sets, the oblique life
that paves black
the squalid grass befits me
Adieu villain city, death of memory