The killer is language.
The killer is language for sunset, sherbet,
and the airplane hanging still.
Sunset, sherbet, and the airplane hanging still
beside the profound cloud the killer is language for.
Vast space is language for a field, a sky,
a terrain, and a hue, the killer, and hewn.
The killer is hewn from
the romance of a slow boxcars.
The killer is vantage point, a weekly rental,
large window, old dusty building the hue of a bad turn,
overpass, triangular switches of light.
What if the killer is.
What if the killer is infinite
and infinite the geometry of the visage.
Not a wrong done, not fertile, knots of conversation
on the street the killer is knots of after dusk.
Correlation, the killer,
sound of the chalk white moon curve
or any sensation linear, color of a thought.
Color of then the chalk white moon curve
because the killer is language for.
Was the platform going backward
or the killer going forward.
Are there any moments of stasis, say,
when the killer and his environs intersect.
The convergence of asymptotes or the intersection
of deficit and bountiful,
the killer is language for momentary.
Daniel Gutstein's work has appeared or will appear in Ploughshares, PrairieSchooner, TriQuarterly, The American Scholar, Fiction, StoryQuarterly, The Penguin Book of
the Sonnet, and several other publications. A former economist, farmhand, editor, and tae kwon do instructor, he currently teaches creative writing and students who have disabilities, both at George Washington University. He has received two work-study scholarships to the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference and has been a finalist for the Bakeless Prize in poetry.