such is the human mind that,
when the elevator lurched,
the thirteen bodies tilted musically,
stereo cell phones ricocheted,
each clicked on, playing…
playing strange mood pieces from Iran,
songs of praise that at times seemed
more…more like a plea
for boysenberry marmalade, a purple
instinct, a rush, and folks grabbed garments
tighter, seeing for an instant
a funeral, a fun-fest
of collapsed tables at some
renegade celebration,
placing game show hosts in embarrassing
locations for days,
asking them to leap from observatories when stars
crushed solar systems,
and roentgens flashed through skin,
leaving survivors weeping for rain.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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