Allison Titus


What poor moon deserves this night,
Drab corset of grief.

I know there's some harmonica
Somewhere, some chicken

Feathers and cord grass that might hold
The dark apart from the body.

But tonight the twilight tethers its husk
To October's horizon and bears down, until even here

At the edge of this concrete field,
Epic maze of rust and chain link, there is nowhere to go

That isn't slowly subtracting its ache,
Each long white hour,

From decades of unribboning.




My favorite things are ruined and crumbling, and I'm interested in the aesthetic of impermanence: falling down, rusted, compromised beauty. This poem is for the former automotive plant of Joshua Lutz's photograph, which i came across in a Harper's once, and later tracked down here: [link]