Not all clouds is something I might add, as a postscript, not all clouds
ma said don’t touch don’t scratch don’t
you can return to masonry / be a gavel
At sixteen, she’s still new to this nation that un-names her daily.
trying to contain expansion means explosion
Our son will have solar flare / freckles splattered on his cheeks
THEM TOO I cannot take what isn’t a gift. Socket, Stiff dance, misdeed, a half intelligible embrace. Mistakenly, see what we have made. The wind Piles into sonorous, explicit [...]
My mother always laughs / when she tells that story.
I call you Ella from your very beginning
yellow almonds, middle eastern eyes
the women did not flee Mosul because they became of wings
I told father and things came flowing out of our red front door
Ghosts are like our otherselves in the multiverses grown
In the ghost town, a way station until E.’s wedding, you keep your vow to a dry-tongued silence.
My spoiled teeth suck down brawny intrusions.
I wish I did not negotiate my body like a capitalist always fearing my scarcity
hammered into the wall of the coffin pit picked up by me as you wandered as far along the rails as needed.
Between my fingers is a veil through which I may glimpse the sun.
Nobody is surprised. Nobody even tries to leave.
His mother kept two cockatoos in her bedroom. They sometimes shat on her bed, nightstand, on framed pictures of Angelito’s grandfather.
When the rhino broke its way out of your body / it broke its horn off too
I am failing to speak the language but I know now it is possible
But of course I cannot be every / body for you, you cannot be every / body for me; souls are slippery like minnows, they have no fleshy handles, there is nothing to hold to pull your soul deeper inside
& I’m not hearing All You Wanted by Michelle Branch or what about my skin or religion needs to be rescued
"folks care more about cars than they do bodies"
I am sure that my blonde hair is beautiful but the beauty of my other physical attributes I am much less sure of
Ugolino is a no-eyed man who jumps on his children
At the fading light bring to her the wolfish mouth of your need.
closed eyes to the watchers in the shadows angels formed in angles beneath the glittering opal
i awoke to the sound of a neighbor crying someone’s suffering is combing my hair
Sometimes when I enter a room, I pretend Zamunda from Coming to America is a real place.
If I could be seen as a force instead of an object instead of a hobby, if I could just do without having to be seen, or if it didn’t matter to me at all, I could be invincible.
black out the windows but the storm is in the house lightning in the bathtub rain over the carpet
Is it because always running is a cliché? And clichés are a rerun of something different? And since you were a boy, did they feed you questionable
i went to see the wizard & asked him for a cock he must have seen by the scuffs on my knees that i really needed one because he said ok
my small fingers curl around a cow’s teat. i point / it in the direction of the pail below. i don’t want to hurt
an animal on stilts reaches the virgin’s tears / and tenderly wipes them. / the virgin cries tres monjitas milk, without coffee.
Someplace else enrages the turtle why a turtle a turtle never did anything to me okay then an old white man with a sign.
Geoffrey, sometimes I think I wear my sadness like caul fat. / Like how a fetal pig never asks to be dressed
Despite everything, my parents raised me. / They even loved me. These things / should always be surprising.
When E is gone / and left / who will I be?
I watched a woman become gore under microscopes, / glowing skin a subterfuge of dust and memory.
all of the lights in the store have gone burnt / dim gaping shelves bent back like bones / breathing fruit rot and dust and no one
What is the problem what is it I ask myself day after day it does not change / I walk through the rooms of my house I open the windows though it is cold
The priest feels a softness washing the back of his neck. Maybe it is rain, he thinks, or sweat.
Self-Portrait with Tapestry and Severed Tongue The chasm of my empty mouth, a chalice flower gaping open in the dark. Was I guilty in [...]
Anxious Diva tells me I’ve lost what’s fun about me. She says I’m flatter than death. Diva, help me cut these onions, help me feel arrhythmia, tell me how alive I want to be.
We cling to each other like / dust motes to light, and / fall the same way - slow and / landing in erratic patterns.
WE ARE BURYING THE HATCHET we are having a funeral for The Hatchet all The Hatchet's friends and family will be there we'll sing all The Hatchet's favorite songs someone [...]
Triptych with Missing Limb 1 the overweight cannibals feed every fortnight the children frolic on our scalps this knocking is not a verb this silverware dances to get our [...]
. Claire Marie Stancek is the author of MOUTHS (Noemi Press, 2017). With Lyn Hejinian and Jane Gregory, she is co-editor and co-founder of Nion Editions, a chapbook press. With Daniel [...]
. . Candace Williams is a black queer nerd living a double life. By day, she's a middle school humanities teacher and robotics coach. By night and subway ride, she's a poet. [...]
Mealtime Love something tender, chewy, broken in. Translates to ache without border, expectation blooming to fit the space it’s assigned. Her name is overcooked. Say it anyway: bright, [...]
Polarized Thinking Sometimes I think Therapist is God even though her name is Lisa. God would want to hear about a real experience: Biggie’s 80s night, two drunk girls [...]
sweeping the floors after dusk isn’t easy, the frangipani petals still fragrant, still usable, when
frogs of lead who bust up your skinny lip by agreement, the paradisiac fields excised, the empty spaces removed from our carapace. a better future for the region. international niceness [...]
Inspiration: Fat We enjoy a woman Who withers Her roadkill eyes woozy Amethyst druzy cunt Thighs so small They ignore each other Share no secrets It takes practice [...]
knows this road where it leads us home cocooned we watch our wings we grow we sleep rise and shine
bodyslam glam for Cassandro & all the queer exóticos Papá always counted to three before he’d lay a hand on me. The sharp stench of tequila slipping through his [...]
lexicon as i am owning up when i say catastrophe it is not exactly so, not even when trimming a jagged edge of road with a gearshift spurning its maker [...]
i have a fever; i pray to Michael Stipe a father with only a voice. maybe you only exist in the sky, or some other endless space. maybe [...]
aubade it’s a voicemail when I’m standing in line at the pharmacy I’m working things out. yeah, I know, darling leaving her is like driving a splinter out [...]
The Vitamix and the Murder of Crows Prologue: Pine and sandalwood wrap deep L bend curves around one needle/ one wood chip / one black feather assembles ink [...]
but then i realized that my body isn’t permanent y’know like bodies how bodies are
Painkiller You tell me none of this will matter I remove my ribcage and scratch at the bone ............You said it was all plastic, it always has [...]
0 missed calls, 5 days away & your names are already erased, A fine scattershot of white, Skyline fucking up the alpenglow, W/o speed, so few odes, ////New [...]
American Beauty the computer doesn’t know what I’m writing my hand won’t know when my head is dead the internet does knows I’m a gemini they’ve already felt [...]
ticket to the m e n t a l s p h e r e we only know the night by sound. i can’t speak for the aspects [...]
Guilt Offering thank you for making me a woman for letting me reside in the book of life inside of which is the pizza shop I was afraid [...]
Famous, mostly, .........he left home & returned .........with the grace of a dowsing rod. .........My love a danger, or a copse .........of pink flowers, I unbloomed .........yardside, let [...]
Was the couch plaid? Or what? I am trying to collect evidence.
We all slept in the same bed— bodies curved like mandibles. I was plume and warm feathered by your ginseng breathing,
Invite him to your mental cardboard, the dream of miniature golf and pizza at the park.
i am sad and everybody knows it i have the urge to take my shoes off and let my toes wiggle in the grass
desires to toss them to the ground desires to read the shards’ constellation of fates desires to know if his is lost somewhere in her
My stated goal is to make closed forms, which are very difficult and very beautiful.
Who will be with you as you become? I am not asking for me, but for the girl character who waits behind my eyelids
The deer neck’d bone hung between your breasts
a traumatic photosynthesis i have built a city entirely made of baby teeth, roots holding still the frosted fort.
Scattered along the wet sand are tiny, bioluminescent plankton, a different, brighter glow than the ubiquitous jellyfish.
of gold dust, the right dust, the only dust claimed or must they be re-worked into concrete dimmed
not coming, flattened, swallowed whole & hung like an old curtain,
The wet of the day I announce to nonspecific Bodies fill a space to watch Words make up a language I’m not sure I completely
1. Eat so many almonds, eat them until you are full to the brim with roasted almond skin pieces and tiny chewed up almond pieces, and then look in the mirror and see if your eye resembles the nut.
without the risk of losing myself, and there was blood along the edges of my blouse
As an evening like this when the final hour of light you’ve seen more often painted—indirect glaze softening stone, spires—is also porno pink
People keep talking about Jupiter from the bottom. Power is forgetting
i’m a parrot with a toothbrush it’s a wise decision and makes a lot of sense
I don’t know maybe I thought I was turning into him. into a dream of youth. I don’t remember having one. I’m going to ask god to give me back my childhood. I don’t remember having one.
Lately, flossing in the sink or tweezing on the toilet
in my dreams i sleep under branches with pale moonlight
I am a fan of your soul. I would pay to see your soul table shower.
i wrench the bone from my mouth for three minutes before it flutter into a raven
i put u in back of my shoulders / where u can see me only / where i can only imagine the shape
I dump my kool-aid on the lichen the galaxy looks like a flushed toilet I feel closest to people I love when I imagine them dying head juices soaking into [...]
THE 52-HERTZ WHALE whistles to no one in particular. This means there is no difference between him crying or him asking for help.
Berlinde De Bruyckere I am thinking of your mind sculpting the carcass as raw matter, slumped heap from which meaning must be freed— of your hands inside the wreckage of [...]
COMPLEX DESIRE like the white couch in a room full of mirrors COMPLEX DESIRE like saying i love u in a red pleather jumpsuit COMPLEX DESIRE like fucking the enemy [...]
I called to say we have two lives and only one of them is real - Camille Rankine Ever talk to someone and as you converse, you see a doubling? [...]
excerpted from a long poem in progress I am messy, painful, redundant. Just so you know from the start. I have watched myself tidy my things inexplicably before walking [...]