A Boy in the City
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A Boy in the City

S. Yarberry

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  1. 92 pages
  2. English
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eBook - ePub

A Boy in the City

S. Yarberry

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About This Book

In this debut collection of poetry, the obscure and mundane collide, a fricassee of movement, the cosmopolitan, and intimacy.

A Boy in the City uses poems as pillars to interrupt and excavate an interiority that unfolds and interrogates grim thoughts and intimacy. Yarberry weaves a sexy, glitzy journey through their city, where the speaker can "pose" and "compose" in a "trans way, of course." Clever in its playful allusions to Greek myths, William Blake, and other literary figures, A Boy in the City is a distinct work of joy and liberation that reckons with the language of gender and desire.

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Information

Publisher
Deep Vellum Publishing
Year
2022
ISBN
9781646051793
Topic
Literature
Subtopic
American Poetry
Index
Literature






But of course, there is a movement—

cum and fog—

revolution without beginning. How does one achieve eternal bliss? By saying: Mr. Mr. in the plainest of language. I occur. A cat meows. I want the heart of a tree when it has been raining. I want a stupendous smugness, and the self— as gentle as concern—
to dispense its terrible truth.
Space








I have sought for a joy without pain,
For a solid without fluctuation.
Why will you die, O Eternals?
Why live in unquenchable burnings?

—from The Book of Urizen by William Blake
THE
HISTORY





In the midst of the night—
you put your lips to the bare
of my back.
When your mouth is agape
it’s the start to a cave,
the shape of an opal—
Inside your mouth
lives something to say, though
you don’t say it. We live this way.
Your hand grabs
at my thigh, my hip. You sleep
and I wake—
I think in the night, before
the blankness takes back over:
Lover this, lover that. Opulent
gossip, circulates, through
the institutional hallway.
I see a crow: crow! I say.
Nobody cares. Which is more
than fine— there’s a note
on my desk, reads: I’d steal a horse
for this. For this? I think.
Good God! Hazard Adams is
droning on about Blake’s
“thoughtless hand” being somehow
mechanic— like the seasons,
the planets. Can the universe
be mechanic? It bothers me.
Anyways, your
thoughtless hand— brushes
across my breast, the breast
I hate. Except you don’t
kill me in this poem— If I am
the fly, then I survive. Survive?
There’s something about me
that is falling fast asleep.
If the universe decides to take me—
I hope it swallows me whole.
LIPS CRASH
WITH LIPS,
INEVITABLE





A modern catastrophe, we are, you and I. Blowing smoke
into the wind, napping on the couch. Rain hits the windows.
I doze in and out. Wet tires on the wet street. I dream
of peaches that hang like lanterns
in the dark. This is what we want: sex, then rest. Sex,
then rest. Anarchy, then composure.

You have another lover, who lives out of state. When she
texts you— I think: Oh nuts! my heart is so breakable. A siren
starts— a fire truck glowing in the storm. Later, we’ll drink beers.
Our friends will wage themselves into the air. I have another love too,
u kno— it’s hard to be alone. It’s hard to be in love two-fold. How bizarre.

Barnacles are dying. How horrible to watch your life
go by and want so much. Those purple mountains, rough—
mouths agape. You wake me up— we kiss.
Ask: What’re we going to do today? What’re we going
to do? My whole life ignites. We’ll do it all. Everything.
CITY-BUILDERS





When your body meets my body
the world goes blank, we build
a new landscape— we call each structure
New New New then Work-In-Progress.
The pastoral lies somewhere beyond
the skyline. We’ve broken sweat.
We call each other “yes, yes” then
“don’t stop” then “don’t leave.”
We have new names, or our names
are new to us again. You pick
beetles and I pick rays to inhabit the city,
safe from extinction and then we play
a real game, where we pick
fallen hairs off one another’s bodies—
who’s who— both dark and in varying
lengths. I don’t have the words
for what we are building. Not exactly.
But the buildings have purpose
even if they’re not all homes.
I am saying this city is untouched, unseen,
or unforeseen. I am saying you to...

Table of contents