METACARPALISM
Our topnotch team of data-driven barflies has been puzzling-out, nay, teasing-out the concentric layers inherent to Metacarpalism, by examining the thing’s, ehh, annual rings. Or maybe Metacarpalism functions as a series of intersecting circles -- kind of like the rings left by our shot glasses on the bar. Because, yes! You’ve got a self-referential (“Meta”) exploration of applause (“carpal”) aligning itself with (“ism”) a tender, tender moment [c.f., “love making”] that nevertheless flips us off. And there you are, atmospherically speaking: popsicle flubbers.
Okay, let’s try this again. We’ve been meaning to discuss with you the whereabouts of the potato masher. Look: please: please: tell us, tell us immediately where you placed it, because by now, we are worried for its safety. We would like to restore the device to its rightful place on the granite countertop beside the lone ripening pluot. Does this ring a bell bottom? In short, Metacarpalism offers you cotton tube socks (with the ridiculous green stripes) when you require a change of t-shirt. It’s three a.m. You can see your breath. Above you, a preposterous ruckus of blue jays caucuses amid the alloys of their copious disagreements.
You could receive one parcel of nibbled government stimulus fromage or one parcel of nibbled government stimulus crayons. When along comes Metacarpalism via Media Mail. Nibbled! The days are growing longer and just maybe, this book has anticipated your request. Just maybe, all will be forgiven.
Poetry/ 978-1-956692-05-1/ February 2, 2022
Our topnotch team of data-driven barflies has been puzzling-out, nay, teasing-out the concentric layers inherent to Metacarpalism, by examining the thing’s, ehh, annual rings. Or maybe Metacarpalism functions as a series of intersecting circles -- kind of like the rings left by our shot glasses on the bar. Because, yes! You’ve got a self-referential (“Meta”) exploration of applause (“carpal”) aligning itself with (“ism”) a tender, tender moment [c.f., “love making”] that nevertheless flips us off. And there you are, atmospherically speaking: popsicle flubbers.
Okay, let’s try this again. We’ve been meaning to discuss with you the whereabouts of the potato masher. Look: please: please: tell us, tell us immediately where you placed it, because by now, we are worried for its safety. We would like to restore the device to its rightful place on the granite countertop beside the lone ripening pluot. Does this ring a bell bottom? In short, Metacarpalism offers you cotton tube socks (with the ridiculous green stripes) when you require a change of t-shirt. It’s three a.m. You can see your breath. Above you, a preposterous ruckus of blue jays caucuses amid the alloys of their copious disagreements.
You could receive one parcel of nibbled government stimulus fromage or one parcel of nibbled government stimulus crayons. When along comes Metacarpalism via Media Mail. Nibbled! The days are growing longer and just maybe, this book has anticipated your request. Just maybe, all will be forgiven.
Poetry/ 978-1-956692-05-1/ February 2, 2022
Our topnotch team of data-driven barflies has been puzzling-out, nay, teasing-out the concentric layers inherent to Metacarpalism, by examining the thing’s, ehh, annual rings. Or maybe Metacarpalism functions as a series of intersecting circles -- kind of like the rings left by our shot glasses on the bar. Because, yes! You’ve got a self-referential (“Meta”) exploration of applause (“carpal”) aligning itself with (“ism”) a tender, tender moment [c.f., “love making”] that nevertheless flips us off. And there you are, atmospherically speaking: popsicle flubbers.
Okay, let’s try this again. We’ve been meaning to discuss with you the whereabouts of the potato masher. Look: please: please: tell us, tell us immediately where you placed it, because by now, we are worried for its safety. We would like to restore the device to its rightful place on the granite countertop beside the lone ripening pluot. Does this ring a bell bottom? In short, Metacarpalism offers you cotton tube socks (with the ridiculous green stripes) when you require a change of t-shirt. It’s three a.m. You can see your breath. Above you, a preposterous ruckus of blue jays caucuses amid the alloys of their copious disagreements.
You could receive one parcel of nibbled government stimulus fromage or one parcel of nibbled government stimulus crayons. When along comes Metacarpalism via Media Mail. Nibbled! The days are growing longer and just maybe, this book has anticipated your request. Just maybe, all will be forgiven.
Poetry/ 978-1-956692-05-1/ February 2, 2022
Praise for METACARPALISM
Metacarpalism contains some of the funniest poems I've read in a while, with word play that really twists my head around. A lot of serious subjects are embedded in the surface zaniness; these poems are filled with dark laughter that somehow makes the contemporary world more livable.
—Mark Wallace
About DAN GUTSTEIN
Dan Gutstein is the author of non/fiction (stories, 2010), Bloodcoal & Honey (poems, 2011), and Buildings Without Murders (novel, 2020). His writing has appeared in more than 100 journals and anthologies, including Ploughshares, American Scholar, Best American Poetry, The Penguin Book of the Sonnet, TriQuarterly, The Iowa Review, and Prairie Schooner. He has been the recipient of grants and awards from the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference, the Maryland State Arts Council, UnitedStatesArtists, Women in Film & Video, and Emory University. In addition to writing activities, he is vocalist for punk band Joy on Fire, who will be performing a Tiny Desk Concert at NPR, and co-director of a forthcoming documentary film, Li'l Liza Jane: The Story of America Through the History of a Song. At present, he is a nomad, dividing his time between the crashable couches of Trenton, N.J. and other scenic overlooks.
