vesicular

photo by Sam J

pumice stones, vesicular,
scratching at the back of a foot,
pitted slab, she said the lady looked
rough…she’s a cloistered clam…
don’t know what else to say about it…
you can tell when you read something
and it’s just sort of about nothing — 
and you can also read words
that shoot spears through your brain
because they are about everything
and sometimes, you can get your hands
around those volatile spears,
and sometimes you can’t…
sometimes they throw you!
they grab you by the neck and throw you,
and other times they strike you
right in the chest…
but if you have a strong chest, an iron
barrel sort of chest,
well, you have nothing to worry about…
but on some days my chest is glass — 
more delicate than that dusty
pumice stone

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Garbage Notes:

This poem is about the different ways a piece of writing can move you. Sometimes I’ll read something and it literally makes no sense. Even if it’s not particularly ‘literary’, or whatever that means.

Some writing just doesn’t say all that much. Like, it has no voice, or no perspective. Other times I’ll be floored. And it almost hurts how powerful the words hit me. Because it’s like that person’s consciousness merges with mine.

Writing and reading—these are such subjective things. I’ve written both kinds of stuff, I’m sure. I’ve written a lot of things that make no sense when I look back on it. On the other hand, every now and then something will give me goosebumps, and I think damn I don’t think I can share this with anybody, it’s too personal.

But maybe that’s the stuff that needs to be shared the most. As the poem says, that could be the “volatile spear” that punctures the reader’s brain. And it might be a reader who really needs it.

I don’t think the first few lines of this poem make much sense in retrospect. I have no clue what I was thinking when I wrote it. I do think the title, vesicular, is kind of strange. It’s like those little holes you see in pumice stones. If a rock has a pitted structure, it’s vesicular.

Your guess as to what this has to do with the rest of the poem is as good as mine. I suppose if you have a bunch of spears shot through your brain, that might make it vesicular. Maybe that’s the connection. I don’t know…

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Franco Amati 2026

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