Black Box

<p><br>“Belieu's poems use a vernacular of their own to suggest a noir world of erotic innuendo and red lights waiting to be run.”—<I>Neon</I></p> <I> </I><p><br> <I>Black Box</I> is a raw intense book fueled by a devastating infidelity. With her marriage shattered Erin Belieu sifts the wreckage for the black box the record of disaster. Propelled by a blistering and clarifying rage she composed at fever pitch and produced riveting unforgettable poems such as the ten-part sequence “In the Red Dress I Wear to Your Funeral”:</p><p><br> <I>I root through your remains</I><br> <I>looking for the black box. Nothing left</I><br> <I>but glossy chunks a pimp's platinum</I><br> <I>tooth clanking inside the urn. I play you</I><br> <I>over and over my beloved conspiracy</I><br> <I>my personal Zapruder film—look. . .</I></p><p><br>When Belieu was invited by the Poetry Foundation to keep a public journal on their new website readers responded to the <I>Black Box</I> poems calling them “dark twisted disturbed and disturbing” and Belieu a “frightening genius.” <I>All true.</I></p>