Paul Siegell

*kaleidoscope for aerodynamics* 


currents within a sphere. makes me wonder about 
form, triumphant. BIG AIR. OPEN-TO-THE-PUBLIC AIR. 
a rush of vaults. solids full of spaces. in them 
experiments. ATOMIC AIR. in the stairwell when you’re 
out of breath. I do nothing too often. fizz a cola. 
I want my freedom, but not of meaning. EXPERIENCED AIR. 
every leaf of every tree. EMBRACE OF AIR. lamplight the 
lacewings. I want to feel it again. not like this you 
haven’t. TO SCALE THE AIR. INCOMPREHENSIBLE AIR. 
on the city bus when someone’s coughing that hacking 
mucus cough. AIR FOR ALL. I miss how much live music 
I used to see. gust a subway tunnel. the clarinet you 
played in middle school. AWKWARD AIR. fling a statue 
of a skyscraper. what a pilot thinks about the planet. 
AIR PRAYERS. it must mean more to astronauts. AIR RHAPSODY. 
bird droppings. to inhale the wild, vital molecules. pilot 
tribe. ELATED AIR. OPPRESSIVE AIR. summer swelter a city 
guy in tight girls’ jeans. ALT AIR. pumping oxygen into 
the casino, the Saudi said, “Send Al Capone to Acapulco, 
Scheherazade to Schenectady.” —well, mariachi my reaction! 
STALE AIR. LETHARGIC AIR. there’s so much I don’t understand 
that goes into it. AIR ARTISTICA. never go into the men’s room 
with your shoelaces untied. AIR ROSES. AIR ERRORS. AIR GRAVES. 
a wedding in a cemetery. APHRODISIAC AIR. the way stained-glass 
windows are assembled. TEMPLES & MOSQUES & CHURCHES & MOUNTAINS & 
SYNAGOGUES OF AIR. each caring for their friends. your parents’ 
house during the holidays. a cook on a submarine. where the light 
is different. I just need to wander more. AEROPORTI di ROMA AIR. 
ARRIVEDERCHI AIR. wind atop an old television tower. EFFERVESCENT 
AIR. goes that we’re still at war. IRE AIR. pilot vibrations. AIR 
RUINS. someone sprayed, “you have to go back” on the highway wall.
WANTED AIR. what deep sea divers do. the kaleidoscopic kung fu of 
little leaves in autumn wind. PHOTOGRAPHS OF AIR. THE BLUES OF AIR. 
in a store window a mannequin with one arm goes, “Spare any change, 
bro?” DEAD AIR. IN AWE OF AIR. the first seconds in a newborn’s life. 
“From the flight deck, we are number one for departure. Flight 
attendants, please be seated.” AS EVERYWHERE AS AIR. thank heavens.

Paul Siegell is the author of jambandbootleg (A-Head Publishing, 2009), Poemergency Room (Otoliths Books, 2008) and the forthcoming wild life rifle fire (Otoliths Books, 2010). He is a staff editor at Painted Bride Quarterly, and has contributed to The American Poetry Review, Coconut, No Tell Motel, Rattle and other fine journals. Paul has also been featured in the Philadelphia City Paper, Paste Magazine, Relix Magazine and Bookslut. Kindly find more of Paul's work at ReVeLeR @ eYeLeVeL.