Dane Hamann
Ennui
Always, the body will gnaw its lonesome
way toward the invisible grove of
ennui. Toward the shadows tumbling from
the mountains teething into the sun’s path.
Still, many points of joy are allotted
along this passage. Music that quakes ribs.
Late spring rain tinseling the trees. The heart,
a postcard of warm lamplight. It’s never
just the depth of a lake masked by snow or
the slow mud-death of a trampled meadow
that wears down the already worn, covers
tracks already covered. The body will
misremember this. Believing, perhaps,
in spirals. That there might be a way back.
way toward the invisible grove of
ennui. Toward the shadows tumbling from
the mountains teething into the sun’s path.
Still, many points of joy are allotted
along this passage. Music that quakes ribs.
Late spring rain tinseling the trees. The heart,
a postcard of warm lamplight. It’s never
just the depth of a lake masked by snow or
the slow mud-death of a trampled meadow
that wears down the already worn, covers
tracks already covered. The body will
misremember this. Believing, perhaps,
in spirals. That there might be a way back.
Biography
Dane Hamann works as an editor for a textbook publisher in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University, where he also serves as the poetry editor of TriQuarterly. His chapbook is available from Sutra Press and his micro-chapbook was a part of the Ghost City Press 2018 Summer Series. He can be found online at www.danehamann.com and on twitter at @donnyhamms.
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