Andy Frazee

 from “I will build things anew”



I will build things anew (angels [capacity

(I do not hold myself quietly [the tiny

tortured thing] for the spider was my

familiar—or my father’s familiar— 

[when I awake (how the equipment sings) 

I no longer know what strange-force familiars 

my system may attract] what angels 

capacity calls] for we awake) we awake

on the twilit factory floor (my face twice-

entwined to the moon’s I or eyes or “yes”




I will build things anew (with firefly anatomy   

pushpinned to a forest-for-the-trees [sieved    

through neural net, partitioned by an isthmus   

sky the sparrow-thought claims] its alphabetic

embrace a continuum of vacuum-tubed) canvas

stretched across a library globe, tan-skin tan

(the leather our embrace of pancreas, heart

wings [settle aside the symbol: come potentate,  

sever the latitude-longitude, open the X to   

ventricle (the ventricle to vessel [the vessel to   




I will build things anew in the catastrophe 

of sparrows, their headset eyes, headset wings

(the perhaps, an edit, a quarantine of debt,

a rhetoric of gain presupposing debt 

[I is the inertia, the lift my father’s debt—

I will build things anew in the opening,

the parallel engine of gravity and snow

placematting the words (hello, halo, progeny

a catastrophe of nouns, a wren’s singularity

the compost bin a haven of reform in excelsis 




I will build things anew (with the hangnail 

of a name tied to the lanyard of a name

[a Thomas or Tanya annotated duly

with skin and wind and the absence 

of wind]) I will clear away the outside 

of a name, where my face resided in (you

our fascination with radar [cinematic 

flickering that fictions hairs into a head—

a sparrow may fly through this moment

nary a world between] in-between skins 




I will build things anew in the unlocked 

committees splicing themselves into me

(you [corrode the stone for printing, (you

 practice ekphrasis, the sparrow halo wording 

the outside of words, a name against [I 

will build things anew (sewn in head-holding 

wings, an I held stable by committee 

and housed in a husk of maps [property, 

propriety, prosperity: into these we pleat 

perhaps, perhaps (little boxes of noise) perhaps



Andy Frazee

<em>Edit Poetry</em> Andy Frazee

Andy Frazee is the author of The Body, The Rooms (Subito, 2011) and the chapbook That The World Should Never Again Be Destroyed By Flood (New American Press, 2010). His reviews and criticism appear in The Kenyon Review Online, Verse, The Quarterly Conversation, and elswhere. The Associate Director of the Writing and Communication Program and the Brittain Postdoctoral Fellowship at Georgia Tech, he is currently teaching a course in poetry and digital culture.