Category: Poetry

The Properties of the Number Nine

It takes a month
to form a habit,
and you’ll begin to learn
to be confident in numbers, my friend.

it’s good to share
but sometimes
we share ‘til it hurts

Don’t we class?

How

far
out   of balance   are we?
Maybe it’s  just    a transposition.
Someone  could  catch it. I
caught one    once. If you do, or
if  you did,  you’re always
the  last  1 to notice.
“How did you know?” you ask me.

                        Well, it’s simple.

9
is               an

indi cati on
                                    of        
                        a         

trans pos ition. And NINE is
hard

to
ignore.

Sicky on a poolside lighthouse – Sam Lind

Sickly on a poolside lighthouse
brown eyes downsizing
            south side suburban
                             summer life

broken spokes such that sun chairs
                 only go all the way
back
       and
furthermore the sun itself in
       such a way
that splashing, though forbidden,
evaporates in a flash
leaving only particulate chlorine
            like crystalline ash

so the sandy-concrete shoreline
            is reliably bone-dry
and slow-cooks flip-flops and flies

lacrosse moms too tan to tantalize
a girl Raven in long, black sleeves
            I envy the dedication
we share a short   vacation
from climates   hospitable
           racing lanes iterations of fast
            tracks to which I am ever only
witness
            less-than-causal observer
turning my head,    panning fried high
schoolers                with white lighters
               infants sizzling into
the shallow end
                        me in my lighthouse

♫ everything
               looks perfect from
                                          far away ♪

            NO RUNNING

Ideas for decorating at the local shelter while you were there. – Liz Flamming

Insect repellent cologne wearing

aliens taking over facilities

like what’s the deal

with rethreading the

bobbins you already lost

them.

An ordinary day

elbow, kneecap, World Wide

Web, simple but not kind or

kind of simply extorted.

The price of business,

God’s work, Corporate Inquiry

entombed in shrines as

our first martyr.

Sweating a rosemary garnish
Take the armor off
You’re safe as a birth

Losing Ian – Julia Lindsay

You were jizz-jazz lightening.
Flannelled up,
arrogant on the front porch
with a 22 of some stolen malt

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Home at 3 am
wandering the woods
you preferred the view swathed in black and blue,
hoping the encroaching ropes of sun
wouldn’t string you from the oak

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”
But there’s a distance cinched
in the space between your eyes,
brows looked like they could inchworm into each other

……….…………………………………………………………………………………………………

You faltered,
opiates in your hand,
your pocket

Divorce Dinner Blues – Forrest Yerman

Dad fried catfish
while Lightnin’
struck young
ears and hush
puppies out of a
cast iron skillet

Mom made
I don’t know what
every other
blue week
On the stove of

that weeping week
with dad
we fried blues,
jazz, catfish,
hushpuppies,
and always
something green

while Fats Waller
hollered out
“Somebody shoot me
while I’m happy.”

 

you fall asleep – Colleen Choate

I’d like to hold up by a bitch tree
a witch tree, climbing, chimming, itching tree

climb black branches up a
snow-white trunk, go back, and
forth, and back, and forth, and back, and
forth, and back Toward heaven,
BREAKS literature
w/ non-human modalities, like witch-ants
‘#more witch-centric lesbian fairytale rom-coms’
#antimanifesto

how do you fall asleep everytime?

dip me into      your sludge
suck the dripping fingers
the bare marrow out the morrow too dry
“Fuck off, Brandon. I am trying
to repent for my sins by giving
back to the Earth.”

Untitled – Colleen Choate

the crackle came
through the line
probably the lightning

            tug boat

            lights

mist
rising from
asphalt

            that gasp

            torn from the

            handbook

in the trajectory of
things
the lights
were not
approaching zero
   we couldn’t
see
            your
   severed totems

 

we couldn’t

even see

 

traced my veins
through my body

you spilled looping

                        and I said
            HOLY

you were light

                        I didn’t know what
                   construction that’s
               the worst I’ve ever
            seen traffic before,
    can I borrow your
can opener?

 

I’m      breaking
you      down

                        to the stripped
                        bark

            your sweaty rabbit foot

                                    like it could
                                    keep me
                                    warm