A Cough into the Acoustic
Could the concentrated undulate of air around a hummingbird's wing
replace the force of air required in a woodwind—say, a clarinet? Or does
any instrument of the kind belie a lung unhinged? Maybe we're asking the
wrong questions. Maybe the question is always else, other: like, am I more
liable to inflate a clarinet with air or consciousness, idle wind or the precise
measure of thought? In both of the given situations, there remains a vital
need for holes (for jazz, et cetera . . . ) to exist. To cough into the acoustics.
I'm grasping at straws here. Aerated, we all are rough organs, ordering
storms of eunuch-toothed clouds to gnash lit fangs. This is how a word
tastes like awe when on the reed, the precipice, the semblance. How a
weather-vane gets twisted into a treble clef.
Originally from Seattle, Washington, Jake Syersak is a current MFA candidate at Florida Atlantic University. His work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Gone Lawn, Word Riot, and Kill Author.
Public Relations Manager
Book Reviews Editor
Assistant Blog Editor
All photos were taken at the Katherine Anne Porter Literary Center, by Sameera Kapila and Herpreet Singh.
Website design by Sameera Kapila