Courtney Queeney

From Filibuster to Delay a Kiss:

Refrain

The assorted men in white coats diagnosed me as lack of sleep
but I've never slept eight hours nightly and this unsettling

at the edges of my vision, the flashing lights, was new.
Ghost insects. Waver shakes. Lightning in the negative.

Objects stood still when I looked at them straight.
Wandering around the municipal city with its severe white noons

and packs of roving pigeons and spoked rotaries
I'd have to cross three streets just to make a right angle,

I kept hearing the men at the car wash mumble, Courtney
Courtney, and then the plaid and pearled couples

carrying their tiny manicured dogs were slipping it in
their chat, Courtney, but meant for me to hear

and I heard and I thought Even my breakdowns
will be keyed to this name, my ego's only note.

* * *

The voice in her poems has this strange distance. It makes for a nice counterpoint to how close to the bone they are thematically.