Douglas Piccinnini


The sun sets and the weight remains

The sun sets to keep the gossip roiling

The sun sets is what Thursday’s gold has kept you from

The sun sets to avow the market, to refreeze intimation

The sun sets grief’s blue-green water screw toward bronze towards silver

The sun sets this body of birdsong over The Houses of Parliament

The sun sets tearing at the chapped mouth of ambition

The sun sets on an Eiffel Tower poster over their desk

The sun sets on a uniform of white hair and enamel veneers

The sun sets on a grain stack and I swear mint dark by true purple

The sun sets on a broadcast of increase, the incense of catastrophe curling away

The sun sets to reach roughly toward misplaced visions of you

The sun sets in ropes of smoke instead of wreaths of flowers

The sun sets working the egg and touching butter heat, the mist finally

upsetting our eyes, a handshake away, the clutter safely gardened

Douglas Piccinnini's recent work has appeared or is forthcoming with Adjacent Pineapple, Afternoon Visitor, Blazing Stadium, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Fence, Lana Turner, NOMATERIALISM and Prelude. A chapbook, The Grave Itself, is just out from The Ethel Press and A Western Sky is forthcoming with Greying Ghost. Previously, Douglas is the author of Victoria (Bloof Books 2019), Blood Oboe (Omnidawn, 2015) and Story Book: a novella (The Cultural Society, 2015).