An Editorial Discussion of
a Love Poem Tentatively Titled Canine Diamond
by Nick Thran
I really think you should go with that title, Canine
Diamond. I mean, it just brings the entire poem to a focal
point right away. And the poem could certainly use some focus,
what, with her wearing the sunlight like a lace undergarment,
and that gardener hoisting his rake to oblivion.
Well then, this part where you see her at a cross-walk
for the first time from inside your Datsun, and the hot coffee
spills over and scalds your leg, and the Senators/Leafs game
is reduced to static; it just seems a little too Canadianna.
This is love. We want it, and her for that matter, to seem more
She does have that way.
And cmon: her skin like a windswept field of dew?
Number one: its a cliche, and number two: you told me
yourself you havent been carnal. You dont know.
She could open her blouse to a chest full of bumps and scars
...Wait. What if I changed my tongue from a strata cloud
into a groundhog mining for gold?
Hmmm. I still see complications. But hey, it is your poem.
I do have to say I these fireflies are great. I fucking LOVE
these fireflies. Theyre everywhere. Do you think you could
find a more evocative way to describe them? Something we can
How about, Mardi Gras for my stomachs winged creatures?
A bit over the top, but ya, I like it. Now youre
getting warm. Still, I have to take issue with the section where
she liberates the forgotten tunnel people, and the point where
she discovers life on Neptune, and especially the lines where
she assassinates the Prime Minister with a green size seven
Im just trying to come to terms with her past.
Be realistic, prepared for anything.
You said shes an orderly.
An orderly, yes. The most important one in the world.
Whatever. None of it changes the fact that these last
lines are a big, big, problem. Youve left a blank space
with a thick red circle around it, right here, where I put the
question mark: You see me more clearly than I see myself, so
clearly I... and then it just breaks off. What is with that?
Youre going to hate this, but I wanted to write
No. Scheznip, you are utterly hopeless. You possess none
of the hard-edged skepticism necessary to sieve the language
down to bone.Scrap the whole love poem. What about dinner, or
Ive bought her flowers. I have tried meals, but
she eats stars.
There is always this one, pale blue, small, wedged between her
Believe me, Nick
Thran has tried.