Noah Eli Gordon




Grotesque Conceit



as minimalism’s edge



through an image


inside of which

the eye relaxes


a cello

plays itself to death


while clouds

installed above


the shadow

of needlessness


continue to do

nothing we need


The Human Face Projected Anywhere But On Another Human Face


A dandelion smeared across concrete

takes the shape of a crawfish

taking its assimilation in stride



An Inky Piece


of vagueness painting a bird

Something in its orange beak

Orange something



a poem in lieu of linear perspective


The world

that falls

is a world

& the world

that’s there

is a world

a fringe world

behind it

beyond it

the world

like a model

of its model


A perfect model

without its world

imperfection’s model

a broken model

that falls

from the model

becoming a model

of what’s there

& what’s there

but a model

perfecting it

performing it


Perhaps it

was a model

Perhaps it

thought it

a world

an itinerant it

thinking it

perpetually falls

or seemingly falls

though it

is not there

becomes there


You there

construct it

gravity’s there

water’s there

what model

for there

is there

in a world

mirroring a world

where there

are waterfalls

where water falls


Everything falls

back there

where falls

are not falls

enduring it

but actual falls

the falls

which model

the model

from which falls

a world

an actual world


A world

& its model

is it

what’s there

feels, falls


An American War Poem


Warbler afloat

above the road.


It goes forward.


Every building disappears

into the late wisdom of capital.


If I turn around,

it also goes forward.


You cannot play a flute upside down,

and certainly cannot sing while playing it.


The obvious, needing no explication, nor an antonym for gift,

continues, regardless, or, perhaps, because of regard, to give

of itself explanation: the pulse of attention’s measure,

meandering, though purposeful as a boat, or a watercolor  

in which, by two light strokes, the boat is only suggestion,

tentative, off-color, backed into reeds, while the reeds

themselves move back in soft wind, and the sound they make.

[step back to issue 3]