"He smiles a lot and then not. / Hauteur is the new hot."

To the library I went yesterday, or maybe the day before, to find a book, naturally, but right next to the one I was looking for was a row of books by Frederick Seidel, including Nice Weather (2012).How not to love a poet who has poems called "Cunnilingus," "The Terrible Earthquake in Haiti," and "Sweet Day, So Cool, So Calm, So Bright." Oh, and "Do Not Resuscitate" and "Rainy Day Kaboom." Appropriately, he has "Silvio" in a poem. In "Arnaut Daniel," pell mell: "Love cracks my sternum open / In order to operate... / A Caucasian male nine hundred yeard old / Is singing to an unattainable lady, fair beyond compare, / Far above his pay grade, in front of Barzini's on Broadway, /In Proven├žal...".

I keep turning to the author photograph on the jacket flap: the most incredible suit, dark, with a waistcoat. If I have ever seen such a beautifully tailored suit before it was lost on me. Try to be someone on whom nothing is lost. I try to read the titles on the spines of the books on the shelves in the background.

"He smiles at the photographer but not/ the camera. He thinks cold is the look that's hot."

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