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Christopher Robinson

Every second envelops / like amber around an insect

Air Become Sinewed 1

Sand is one type of ground I can imagine
sailing across. Also snow

the air not lace, but glass
cornea rasped by a cat’s tongue
the body’s halyard

knotted in a monkey’s fist


The plan is simple


to be creatures that consume
excrete, wait
to be fed

I call you
you call me
and in this way
we build a precarious temple

Air Become Sinewed 2

through a split in chain link

wolves in the city
fogged by data-exhaust, sewer-steam

all those missing children
all irrelevancies

time ticking up
the expiration
on the milk


Every second envelops
like amber around an insect


The harvestmen are out in greater numbers
sharing the prime real estate
on the bathroom ceiling

outside the window infested
with aphids, kitchen flies blitz

bytes and bits
of our computers worming with viruses
how life effloresces

Air Become Sinewed 3

What follows from a kiss at the crook
of the elbow

The best kind of soiling

And the heart? Tell me about the heart

It’s red and big and fat, it needs
a good basting

every twenty to thirty minutes


Light, how

       does it know

to bend around
       what’s massive
why should it


Christopher Robinson earned his MA in poetry from Boston University and his MFA from Hunter College. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in the MIssouri Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Night Train, Kenyon REview, Nimrod, McSweeney's Online, and elsewhere. He is a recipient of fellowships from the MacDowell Colony, the Millay Colony, the Santa Fe Art Institute, and the Djerassi Resident Artist program, among many others. He has been a finalist for numerous prizes, including the Ruth Lilly Fellowship and the Yale Younger Poets Prize. This summer he has a fellowship at Bread Loaf as a scholar.