Posted on November 28, 2010 | 
Last night I was swooning again (near-zombie occupational hazard) over the glittering, edge-of-the-cosmos-and-mind poetry of Bruce Boston in his recently released Dark Matters. What can I say? The guy just blows me away. Boston is the author of 45 books and chapbooks and winner of an amazing number of awards like the Bram Stoker Award, the Azimov’s Readers Award, a Pushcart Prize, and the Grandmaster Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. When I read his poetry I’m catapulted out into the farthest reaches of the galaxy or into the deepest recesses of the brain. And, oh gee, you know I love brains. Here’s a sample of what turns me into a slavish fan (another zombie habit I can’t seem to shake).
Blue Rain in G-Minor
On the raggedy dawn of a raggedy day
clouds have junked the skies.
Nails are all notched and poised.
Blue winds on the rise.
You can feel a blue wind coming.
You can sense it on your back.
Like a train with endless boxcars
pounding down the track.
You can hear a mournful whistle
that dopplers as it sounds.
Nails hard are driven home.
Clouds keep falling down.
—Bruce Boston, Dark Matters, Bad Moon Books, 2010
—Erin Orison, DEAD LOVE/the Daily Slice
