Stride Magazine -


from “Superliminare”






the man is tying the woman’s shoe


in the street


who smiles                     at that


the household gods


I’m walking home today hello you


look so happy

                           yes, it’s nice


nice             and how it colors all these faces


for now from here


         is a




         christmas in the universe


         in September


native to this system


o nativity


as tree is climbing


         lack and lackless sky


so terrifying


         out of






afraid like my animal


my heart darting


around in the cavity of my body


should you see it


(the seal on the country of souls)


you’ll know like the shambles


the inspectors are vague


to auditor emperor father hovering

in aether (which knocks you out now)

(now whistles with signals)



we never can rest

except always

we always can fly



terror and love are my own

I unleash them






the figure study hampered


glossed in spirits of artichoke


craning tables with mug on its


peoples every darling


         a birdman


cranky saint


saint with hand on crank


charge the well wage the world


like pully (through-tenon)


this radial steel-belted radial


two to radiant


         compose deeds as you


would have those who trespass




         compose those who tresxpass


as you                           Zuk: a test of poetry


no trigger


         doctor, explodeyerself






as long as the cooling in wide-spring salt having /cave/ on the cavity

in the morning of this 200th day of my 31st; dreamt as this is the autumn

of the people’s calendar they, crying out the banners, drive the slick

roads beside me – the muskrat median sinking to these beriberi roots (or)

this classical hell (cavernous and candlelit, a place reserved for me and my

friends). I may return from lunch for lunch snarfed on the run to tasks

cleaning the universe of stables of the university. I may rage against the

hour hand s/he rules with a shot-glass of shavings and kiss my good wife

before incredible journeys






we swim in underwear

@ roadside lodges


screwing salt into the threads

for what we come to


knows us by


and by


the rotting railings


raining in the future


our birds are bathing


o draw a bath my dear


dra b y ear


o r d ar ing

inin in


e ro s


hat e me


wing s to


t e lo s


im in we






the long lie of summons


conning formats


I’m making / up the work


in strips


all fall long


you in the hypocriticon


“back then they didn’t feel”

the sky run down the back


with cape and cutlass


that being in a body


has a sin


& cosin


for history of


the rot






@ the funeral home


kentucky plates

         a kentuckian


is dying


whose politics are


banal as well


as I am like my marriage


which is like


a good war that


is an




waged again

                                    may I

compare us to a sacrifice


         I shall

for good


         be groaning

the conviction


withdraw so to project


part touching


         y/our doorway






walk away


the red stripe


is an opening

on a growling joy


that’s ‘painterly’


         that’s hanging from the tree

         as imitation in the



mine of series

moon of solace


fruit of the tree               |

fruit of the floor              | the seeds

shuddering on the floor   |


we break my darling





         © Aaron McCollough 2003



Aaron McCollough’s first book, Welkin (Ahsahta Press 2003), won the Sawtooth Poetry Prize, judged by Brenda Hillman. His second book, Double Venus, is forthcoming from Salt Publishing. McCollough also edits an online poetry journal called GutCult at