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NYU

Levi says…

Continues was written in my first couple of years in New York, the only substantial amount of time I had ever been away from my homeland of Wyoming. It was something of a personal challenge to write about Wyoming, as I had expressly avoided home and family as poetic subject matter for a long time. Of course distance and the heart do what they do, and thus was born this loose crown of reversed sonnets.

The theme and the characters are lifted from folks back home but a lot was redacted, adjusted, and obscured, so no single person is in any danger of exposure, hopefully. But I feel that this one of the most fully realized collections of poems I’ve had the pleasure of wrestling with, and they need to really be taken in as a whole to be enjoyed. Maybe I’m wrong, whatever. I hope you enjoy it and feel compelled to share.

cast of characters

Our main mope is Steven Malakova,
light-hearted, lounging in county on his Jesus tattoo,
hours dropped reconnecting with D O’Connor,
tight bros from way back when. D’s in and out of

jail and Wen Island, AKA Ponytail,
who has D’s baby girl but neither know
hail from Mary. Wen, Steven and D thrash
through Wyoming sharing solos and

throwing bottles until Rebbecca (with
Two B’s in her name and under her shirt)
mows through town to strip at the Hive and
move past some scary shit. She often

wakes up under unfamiliar sheets with the
shakes, a stable of young ghosts at her feet.

Download Continues by Levi Rubeck

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from (Opera)
Asylum

1.

______Here is the proof,
____________everything about me.

I couldn’t stop thinking
___________about myself as him,
so the revelatory parts of me
_____like confetti undropped
grew dusty and apologetic.

“It isn’t enough
_____to tell you any more.”

____________*

_____“I’d like to think myself
_____a generation who stayed married.”

Back here, while walking past the foreign languages,
my daily discussion with the parrot behind me,

_____above all I am unaware
who is trying to help.

____________*

_____Given an infinity to write this,
___________you might. On courage:
so much is trial and error.

_____To adapt though, to take
the raw materials
_____of predestination and refine
to a convenient last name.

_____Once, my father
_____said something accidentally
better than any he ever thought.

____________*

_____The closest I get to being alone
an unanswered phone,
_____the showers even crowded.

_____Nancy the butcherbird changes
_____the sheets and rallies discrete
with nicknames and subtle blames
_____we carry
_____with teaspoons
_____to our bedrooms.

______________________________________________________
Brian Trimboli graduated from NYU with his MFA. While there, he held a fellowship for The Veteran Writers Workshop, and was the Poetry Editor for Washington Square Review. He has poems most recently in Gulf Coast; Forklift, Ohio; and No, Dear. He’s been pretty occupied lately with gardening and baseball, but still finds time when necessary.