The following piece appears in our Summer 2025 issue. Order it here.
My father moved through moods of love. Wait, no. Dooms. My father moved through dooms of shove. Of push and pull. And not enough. When he was old and gray and changing his own tires— I mean, fire. When he was old and gray that’s when he was fired. He was full of sleep and not enough. He made banked fires blaze. No, no One ever thanked him. He moved Out and that was thanks enough. He beat time on my head. In lieu of a metronome. In lieu of flowers, he said Words but words, in lieu of flowers, are not enough. He might have danced in a green bay, who knows, hard to say. O, no Question he raged. Off the cuff His last words were perfect and enough: Re: the dying of the light, he said, and I quote—wait, no.
M.I. Devine is the author of Warhol’s Mother’s Pantry (Ohio State/Mad Creek Books), winner of the Gournay Prize. He is co-founder of the avant-pop project Famous Letter Writer, which has released Warhola and DADAMAMA. Poetry, lyrics, essays, and music have appeared widely: in Literary Matters, Los Angeles Review of Books, Dappled Things, Tupelo Quarterly, American Literature, American Songwriter, and through NPR Music, among other places. He is Professor of English and Director of the Center for Interdisciplinary Studies at SUNY Plattsburgh.
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A terrific use of other poet's lines to create something new.
All that Dada's spent before the fireplace has given her a red face and a hot ass.