008.1: Diana Delgado:: M-U-R-D-E-R 008

The prose poem exists in a gray area, where two otherwise separate forms of writing coincide, at least for a moment. Not entirely poetry, not entirely fiction, these poems can be read as commentaries on form and the nature of form. Or as Robert Creeley put it "Form is never more than an extension of content." Diana Delgado's poem "M-U-R-D-E-R" is considered a prose poem because there are no line breaks. But to what extent is this prose? There are no punctuation marks, no sentences as we traditionally think of them. Prose as an idea is just as disrupted as the traditional look of poetry. This prose poem emerges as a thing unto itself, the brief capture of a series of thoughts that without an imposed grammar or line breaks become "songs of escape". Andrew Wessels


isn’t that what you’re afraid of a star shoots across the sky the miracle of bloom unanswered near a wishing well the heart sleeps it sunburns the men above a strawberry field a vanquishing what the heart does is surrender she wrote on saturday when the pawnshop re-opened and her anklets stuffed animals board games burst follicles were in hock debt and the heart is a bike ride against the wind they locked you outside the house in a cheap white nightgown the overturned car was filling with leaves when she said this wind eats everything his fantasy was to see blue-black feathers lift from church spires like songs of escape