by: Tomo Williams
Tomo Williams’ exploration of the musical potential of language in these poems lights a fuse that sends them exploding off the page with disjunctive syntax and an overwhelming onrush of thought.
synchronicity in sudden drops
aligns to cursive loops
spool for thread
reeling from offset reality
nod to node where leaves synthesize autotuned rustling
caricaturization of corrugated
devil’s tritone demonizes augmented fourths
you for, i?
ahh. uh, i have to go. | to go
to do figure draw
[to get life]
stay still, will you?
will i? will well to fetch swig of water,
discount amphibian…croaking its final
bump of coke
chase ‘em and hem in desperately hovering hummingbird
/– black box: hirshhorn –\
you’re telling me in ample detail about your hiking boots
phrase fills the room, does a lap, vanishes through absorption by the vestibulocochlear
nerve \ ears hear. sheer auditory action / when does sound approach the conscience?
taking in noise to (nerv,)ously
chuckle in response.
haunted to today, nearly yesterday | separated by a numerical tick, tick, tick,
sun’s been down, bent down to pick up the petals of a rhododendron…
road of dead run
sprint to spin a runt
path weighs on the thrust. trust no one.
where the terrain clips (a cliff!), a sudden drop. a tear escapes before the throbbing temple
feels grief or fear.
scoop up self to savor self-preservation. rest in pieces until fragments shed sharp shards and
emptily take in an intake pitifully.
how are you today?
well, I’m here.
here you are!
…not here yet.
catapulting into slow motion:
viscous droplets of time cling on
and melt away, at your touch.
racing minds remind the brakes to
break enough so the whirring won’t
be brought down to burning smoke.
the fog lessens your pace, as
limited range of sight threatens
safety in every sense.
the clock stops tocking to take a
breather; seize her (the moment); it
back in the day a rotation took more
than a second; it took more than
automated machines have seen to the
end of old-fashioned steps.
the melody winds down to ballet
to a bridge.
wait on it; wait for it; wait to wonder
what notes will be wandering next.
Tomo Williams is from the suburbs of Seattle, Washington, and they were brought up with both a Japanese and an American education. They are half-Japanese and Queer, and through reconciliation with their own identities, they have learned to appreciate displacement. Currently, they are completing their final year of university in Washington DC. They are developing their poetry through experimenting with incorporation of other languages, epiphanies, and stories from their own life. This is their first publication.