Abraham Burickson

Abraham Burickson Poems

It doesn't take much, really, for things to fall back into place,
just the natural course of gravity, or something obvious, like time.
Nothing will ever be the same again, said Bill,
...

He figures the air's there to carry words
for her. Charlie sees it. Her voice shivers it,
her voice: perfect, from a perfect body;
...

Abraham Burickson Biography

Abraham Burickson (born 1975 New York City, New York) is an award-winning American poet and conceptual artist. Son of Sherwin Burickson, Abraham Burickson attended Cornell University, receiving a BA in architecture. In 2002 he moved to San Francisco where with actor Matthew Purdon he founded the conceptual art and performance group Odyssey Works. In 2008 Burickson received an MFA from The University of Texas Michener Center for Writers. He was the Risley Artist-in-Residence at Cornell University in 2010, and has taught at Centenary College[disambiguation needed] and Academy of Art University.)

The Best Poem Of Abraham Burickson

Returning

It doesn't take much, really, for things to fall back into place,
just the natural course of gravity, or something obvious, like time.
Nothing will ever be the same again, said Bill,
but same is in our nature, something about being so heavy, landbound,
it's our industry on this earth: mighty mammals, builders of cars, makers of calendars.
A few restaurants serve gumbo now, waiters smile and fill cups with water,
workers work and go home to watch television and dream
over soils returning to the same tempo,
and before the same tone of an unnotable morning. Sun rises and lifts around clouds.
People are more evident today. Yesterday was remarkable:
Henry finished painting: a radiant spread of blues and reds
rippling out from his porch over the skin of five houses, as if
abandonment could color wood, some comprehension of experience
by the inanimate, which today fades as fact. Henry won't see it at all, his mind
reoccupied with that solid, warming feel of forward motion,
leaving yesterday abandoned on the lawn as artifact.
Later, an older man, drunk
and wandering the wrong way home,
will come upon the red-blue wave and note
how close we still live to destruction.

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