Three Poems by Adrian Blevins

An excerpt from “Triage,” one of three poems by Adrian Blevins (poetry, ’02) from the collection, Appalachians Run Amok, and published at Blood Orange Review:

 

Triage

Each time I fly I look a little longer out the window, so that’s good, that’s maybe
upgraded depth perception, but who knows since I didn’t take physics

on the Smoking Block as a girl in overalls in a Mustang at the fair
sitting cross-legged in the back with a joint or a bottle or some other joy thing

illegal, alien, licked, fringed, and laced. It was Frank O’Hara. It was D.H. Lawrence.
It was Lawrence Ferlinghetti in my purse with me trekking the sweet fodder.

It was not needlepoint. It was never Einstein. It may have been Darwin
somewhere in the back of the little skull but more likely it was condoms.

More like it was a party in the hunting shack up on the parkway where we went to fuck
because it was fucking because it was forgetting because it was rural America on drugs in the 70’s  […continue reading here]