Interview

Jacob Russell Rusel Rusell I have always had trouble with double letters especially in names which are always made up and are especially made up like beds in this case.

Jacob Russell (sic?) is a guy in philly who writes a lot more than I do, also he is my dad.

Here is an interview in which he sort of answers questions.

http://starlightphiladelphiapoetry.blogspot.com/2011/08/feature-jacob-russell-spirit-stick.html

the sun above them

Their hair flashed
lightning white like Xanadu
Glowing over floating leaves,
darkening to residue
Fish below
and turtles, in the day.
A boat ride over choppy water:
Always, facing so much beauty,
comes the urge to swim.

Callispock maloon

Tch Pardo. Illim go floo neezis.
Thegree milann istok l'bor,
strino walum.
argh. pik biddy tin roasting mallow.
stick lyth bythy bin bulgogi,
welsh hills arthur barbeque.
and then?
the grim halloo.
the what.
the who.
wide eyed haroo.
I meant:
"it's new?"

the rosebud
remembering winter
protects the flower
by staying closed

Who you see is who you've seen, and where is where you've been.

That bitter old surprise:

that

each face coloring the bar

twins one

moved to another city

or served your father in his hospital bed

or stopped your calls

or lay with you naked and

promising

all

vanished
in magician's smoke

to be forgotten

remembered

doubted

seen again in 20 streets,

the strangers with that hair

jaw

voice

the shape of her

until

your grail's

the small curve of knee

the tilt of neck

the rarity

the new you can not quick.

until.

how was I lost

once as a child I lost my way on the short walk home from school.
dismayed that I was passing the wrong trees,
I wept, afraid.

now I can not trace your silhouette in the empty bed,
but I have learned to know you are missing:

my hands can not find what they've forgotten.

I studied the maps of your skin and ceiling,
but was perennially surprised by the length of your hair;
the roughness of the plaster;
the warm give of your body;
the many unremembered shadows.