Announcing... Freshwater Dredge
A lo-res approximation:
Front:
:Back
This is the culmination of much of the last year's work on a book of and about Wellesley, Massachusetts. At least, that's where it starts. And ends. More than anything, it's an exploration of memory and identity. And it's the first of three.
It's now available for pre-order. I'm doing the pre-order thing because this is an expensive project. Of all the books I've ever made, this is by far the most gourmet. Star St. Germain (thisisstar) worked relentlessly on the cover with me, and the results are clear. And hot. And she gotta get paid.
So. Pre-order. The book costs $12. It comes in a vellum envelope and if you pre-order, ships for free. Telling you any more of its secrets would be cheating. The address to PayPal is adam (at) destructibleheart dot com.
I will be selling them in Boston and environs at discount for $10. Please, show some love.
Morses Pond II
Before high school
locker rooms and greasy evenings
poring over the mirror
there is the bathroom
at Morses Pond.
The florescent lights struggle
through their plastic enclosures.
The walls line themselves with the sand kicked up
when the thick men,
shoulders so burnt
they seem somehow heavier,
fumble their way into the urinals.
I wish I could have been old enough
to find women attractive
so I could have appreciated what suburban
living does to the body. Creeps over
and inside it
an algae that fills the thighs
and fattens the upper arms
until no bathing suit’s elastic
will flatter us.
Twelve years later in Cambridge
the college girls usher their shirts off
on the banks of the Charles
all skin and flash.
It’s little wonder “the older kids”
were twelve-year-olds
or the teenager dragged
there to baby-sit his brother.
Once you get old enough
to realize what’s missing
and what replaces it
your parents suddenly look so lost
on the banks of middle age, the water
creeping closer
and closer to all of you.
Front:
:Back
This is the culmination of much of the last year's work on a book of and about Wellesley, Massachusetts. At least, that's where it starts. And ends. More than anything, it's an exploration of memory and identity. And it's the first of three.
It's now available for pre-order. I'm doing the pre-order thing because this is an expensive project. Of all the books I've ever made, this is by far the most gourmet. Star St. Germain (thisisstar) worked relentlessly on the cover with me, and the results are clear. And hot. And she gotta get paid.
So. Pre-order. The book costs $12. It comes in a vellum envelope and if you pre-order, ships for free. Telling you any more of its secrets would be cheating. The address to PayPal is adam (at) destructibleheart dot com.
I will be selling them in Boston and environs at discount for $10. Please, show some love.
Morses Pond II
Before high school
locker rooms and greasy evenings
poring over the mirror
there is the bathroom
at Morses Pond.
The florescent lights struggle
through their plastic enclosures.
The walls line themselves with the sand kicked up
when the thick men,
shoulders so burnt
they seem somehow heavier,
fumble their way into the urinals.
I wish I could have been old enough
to find women attractive
so I could have appreciated what suburban
living does to the body. Creeps over
and inside it
an algae that fills the thighs
and fattens the upper arms
until no bathing suit’s elastic
will flatter us.
Twelve years later in Cambridge
the college girls usher their shirts off
on the banks of the Charles
all skin and flash.
It’s little wonder “the older kids”
were twelve-year-olds
or the teenager dragged
there to baby-sit his brother.
Once you get old enough
to realize what’s missing
and what replaces it
your parents suddenly look so lost
on the banks of middle age, the water
creeping closer
and closer to all of you.