Liz Robbins

Sentences

 –after Nicanor Parra

God is a bigfoot. Giant squid of the deep.
The last seaside resort. A Mexican standoff.

No joke. The airplane stays aloft by collective
wishing. Art is a rich and gray soil. Money, green

shoots in a field of dead clover. Dogs are Buddha,
are rooting, court jesters. Ice cream is fashion, is

prayer books. God is a wig, a wink, a coat of wool.
Ecstasy, a burp, a remodeled interior, an accident

of two. Or faith. Babies, patchwork quilts, the bed
itself. Bicycles, fringe. The heartland, suede.

Darkness, a president. A party. A beacon. God is
a script. In pencil. Traced over in red ink.

Liz Robbins' Play Button won the 2010 Cider Press Review Book Award, judged by Patricia Smith. Her poems can be found in the current issues of Bayou, Cimarron Review, Parthenon West, and Valparaiso Poetry Review. She's an assistant professor of creative writing at Flagler College in St. Augustine, Florida.
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