A

American algorithm. Again. Another. Automatic. A is antecedent, anterior, the abscess from which all else

arises. The atrocity in the attic, but also the attic’s architecture. Also the aisle, the apse, the arcade, the atrium.

The atria of the heart, the aorta, the walls of the arteries. A is for ambient and amniotic, for always in the

atmosphere. It is about, above, across, after, against, along, among, around, at. Again. Like an anthem. The

aquifer we drink from. Ad nauseum, ad extremum. Anytime: April or August; autumnal or annual; antefact or

aftermath; ante-mortem or autopsy. No astonishment, no anomaly. Not agape or aghast. Not anymore

Another. An accident; the back of an ambulance. An abrasion, an ache, an affliction, an abyss. Not ancient, not

antique, not ago. A is for always, for anagram. Again. An archipelago of blood across an avenue, from area

code to area code, reaching arroyo, atoll, arch, alluvial fan. Again for the albatross shot down, for the

asphodel like an asterisk beneath an armored vehicle. An animal astride a body on the asphalt; for attaboy. A is

for audience. A city assieged, aflame, alight. A is for arson and ash, for the aureole of aerosols. For the aspens

aquiver in the acrid air. For asphyxiation. A is for air freshener. Another. A is the alarm absorbed by the

amygdala, the anvil of anxiety, the agony rising along an axis. Again. Asymptote, avalanche, amplitude

acceleration, accretion. Again. In the American alphabet, as long as A is for acquit, absolve, amnesia, it cannot be

for aloe, apricot, Arcadia. No ambrosia, amaryllis, anemone, arum lily. A must be for alive. Antivenom. Ave.

Amen.

Share Your Poetry