b r u c e c o v e y




from  Reveal*



Reveal:  Precipitation


Rain:  Are you willing to take the risk?

Sleet:  The vertical line in the center of the diagram

Snow:  Or perhaps you’d like to try your hand at

Hail:  Punching the core—How bad can it get?

Freezing Rain:  Most commonly found in a narrow band



Reveal:  Nuts


Wal:  Sunbeam electric throw denim prairie

Pecan:  As you’ve heard it said

Pea:  We offer members advice on all matters

Coco:  Shrewd, chic, and on the cutting edge

Macadamia:  Some are smooth, but others are pebbled

Brazil:  Distribution remains a pressing problem

Pine:  Once upon a time, in 1989

Cashew:  Fresh from the Yukon, furry muck and other

Almond:  Science continues to learn more

Pistachio:  Of broccoli or spinach?



Reveal:  Order


Doric:  Voltage and current strain gauge measurement test bench

Ionic:  Selects the red spider for its infrastructure

Corinthian:  An increase of 55% over the prior year

Composite:  Compared to traditional autoclave curing

Tuscan:  Sexual content and language



*  I created the various parts of “Reveal,” now a book-length sequence, using the “I’m Feeling Lucky” feature of google.com. A search on each line’s keyword revealed a website, and I used different methodologies for each poem to select the corresponding “found text.” 






Is Hart Crane a style of kung fu?

Does water always circle clockwise?

Is there anything to dread in Albuquerque?

Is it time to smell your city hair?

What if, for a day, no one catches any lobsters?

If you’re full of intent, do you have room for dessert?

Can you put a side dish in the center of the table?

Are wooden nickels worth anything to a collector?

If a turtle runs quickly, is it still a turtle?

How do you spare a 7-10 split?

Does anyone die in the funny papers?

Is “Speed Limit 60” your sign?

If I’m in the nude, can someone address me?

Where do bats fly for the winter?

What number does a stitch in space save?

Are there any leftovers?

Yellow?  Purple?  Blue?  Orange?

Whose velocity is this?

Do any bakers count correctly?

How many teeth will it take to fill up this mouth?

Does Peter Piper pack pepper spray?

When will all the faucets stop dripping?







As the cement presses back against the air,

Its pores inflate of minerals and clarity.


As the skin moves through space, a bag

Full of blood, it scrapes against the atmosphere


Leading almost to kittens

The ones that survive the hot summer


& bake into the sub-strata, the basket

Skin of the cantaloupe embracing its flesh


& desire to make love to a God

To see if she has a denouement


A fascination with sleeves & cuffs

& other sparkling & superfluous





Elapsing Speedway Organism


Revolved to require to reverse, hip at the apex of triangle


All web to funnel, to spin around & under circumference

To advocate the many that drop, pennies fluttering through oil


& wet behind the ears, green.  Meant stripes as favor

Curved at the top & lips.  All the skins peel with it,


Sheets & sheets of mail drawn between nails

& all the characters therein, leaving only subtext

Rebar & organ, shadow intention.  Sliding then your finger


Between them to create artificial distinctions

Where each now thirsts for other, water 2 water &

Vessel 2 vessel, pattern only dangling ones


From line by loop & hook, trying to herd you there

To juicier grass, to release & let screw momentum


Carry you into the future, where cement just ooze

& outline the single spot in the middle, the one

that all animals jingle around ride them







As tambourine vibrates its little cymbals

& crashes like dragon to the lemon floor

You can calculate pi by eyeballing circumference

Of marble, parallels finally kissing upon horizons



Thing without holes attempts to reabsorb

Bowling pin tacking the melon walls &

Topple unprecedented angle, protract carpet



As buttercup blasts its grabby opposition

Angel torches driftwood & seeds watermelon

Where daisy selfishly unveils

Each stringed banana of sunlight

brucecovey is Adjunct Professor of Creative Writing at Emory University and author of three collections of poetry—The Greek Gods as Telephone Wires, and the forthcoming Ten Pins, Ten Frames (Fall 2005), and Glass Is Really a Liquid (Fall 2006)all from Front Room Publishers.  His recent work also appears or is forthcoming in 26, Bombay Gin, Jacket, Explosive Magazine, Pool, CrossConnect, No Tell Motel, The Hat, 88, Boog City, Traverse, Cranky, GutCult, MiPoesias, La Petite Zine, Shampoo, and other journals.  He is editor of the web-based poetry magazine Coconut.                                                 




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