W r i t i n g
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I was looking for a good thing / to try about. Every year, / there are parades for veterans. / That might be something.
Tourist
Burial
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5 Poems at P-Queue
P-Queue
The other of the other / is the sky and its sphere / of longing. // Kolaptō grew in reverse, / roamed dung-billed instead / of bildungsromaned, / raised in a house / with all its mirrors pointed inward / to reflect only their dark walls.
Dusie
Dusie
no one has died / will ever die / in fact I’m reviving / all of my dead / all of everyone’s / into a world / of meaning / thought I’d share / the good news
Poem of Thanks: Reversed Star
Posit
when I open my eyes the world / makes small adjustments / like everyone is suddenly not / wearing a tuxedo // they are tearing a hole / in the center of the road / digging furiously with shovels / and bulldozers
3 Poems at The Boiler
The Boiler
The arc of Mechaskypenis is a tragic arc, / the plight of the machined shadow / in the palm of a great forest, / a dead forest, a forest of rot and emptiness. // Flames licked at the curtains inside him, fire / in his house, smoke in his childhood bedroom / too thick to see through for 18 summers.
5 Poems at The Vat
The Vat
you-were-thinking-the-word-intertwined-instead-of-passed-away-suppose-I-am-not-lost-is-the-way-through-and-the-beautiful-thing-is-that-we-can-keep-taking-and-then-giving-back-mountains-are-things-that-we-can-take-but-giving-them-back-will-require-more-of-ourselves-than-we-can-offer-
Some Things Have Their Natural Limits
Michigan City Review of Books
I lay down against the dialogue / and wake as the platonic ideal / of mouth movements, turn / the door into itself / by walking through it / fall infinitely through my life / along the x-axis. An honest living.
5 Poems at Do Not Submit
Do Not Submit
The distance between the mirror / and myself is a cloud of clouds. // But nothing raining today, / just my reflections / shooting each other / with dream bullets / around crowded corners.
2 Poems at Ritual Dagger
Ritual Dagger
Kid Cumulus forgets his name / and goes hunting for it / in the forest of proper nouns, / cutting his own trail, / cutting his friends in half / to peer through the telescope / of their intestines / to climb the rungs of their sex / into the dripping moon.
Poems in Periodicities
Periodicities
with one face I am prepared / for anything / light finds me / on my own terms / the way I want to be found / a trumpet blows / I rise from the dead / my bones coming together
Poem of Thanks: Reversed Six of Swords
Noir Sauna
What I want to say is something / about the translucence of clouds / being damn near pornographic. / The mood shifts with subtle rains until / all that’s left is background radiation.
4 Poems at Works and Days
Works and Days
I think I look like the river. / It loves me, but I don’t love it back. / Every one of its clouds explodes inside my skin.
2 Poems at The Texas Review
The Texas Review
something falls / a draught of days / we form a singular / thought / expose it to breath / I should have felt less
Orbit and Space
Petrichor
tell the clouds not to be / strangers anymore // tell the clouds to / walk straight through me
The Body Schema
Discount Guillotine
Pews shimmered with the trash can tin like a lake / so that the church was forced to change / its name to The Holy Congregation / of I Love You Dammit, How Can I Make You See That.
4 Poems at Aphor Magazine
Aphor Magazine
the moon / is an acoustic / phenomena / the moon / caresses us / with its names / drinks the black / night / through its skin
Underground Water
Poetry Northwest
What you call rain is really / a kind of roofing material / and what you call transcendence is really / the dreamless sleep of household objects.
Taxonomy
After Happy Hour Review
3 Visual Poems at TILT
TILT
fuck sight / don't want it / don't need it / hold these two swords / and go cut that shit / fucking cut the moon down / feed it to the dogs
Poem of Thanks: Two of Swords
Blue Bag Press
ash on ash on ash / a structural / memory / I feel my dreams / burning / their sap / running red / on my beloved's / skin
imuru & nag-ba unicode
Mercury Firs
water boils its name down / to a small hope / try try try with an ergonomic moon / to cut out of this life into the other
Poem of Thanks: The Queen of Cups
JMWW
I stared at the horizon / until it stared back. / It was not the horizon, // but my other self. / Congratulations! It signed / with its clouds. You are winning.
2 Poems at Couplet Poetry
Couplet Poetry
Tunnels, and this review, is composed of a 3x3 grid. A fragment of text occupies some squares, while solid black fills others. The blackout squares grow progressively more frequent as we tunnel deeper until that darkness consumes us. The reader chooses their own direction: across from left to right, down from top to bottom, or through to the next page’s corresponding square.
The Labyrinth Effect: On Ben Segal’s Tunnels
Annulet
Someone soldered a storm cloud / to the stop sign on the corner // to the part of me that I picture / when I hear vegetal-being
Accounting for True Objects
Sip Cup
They put a thousand horses in me / to slip through the gates. There they all are / galloping up the great trees of the night / lightning lancing down their hides
Tonal Ellipse of the Art
Brawl Lit
The first time I was afraid of the future / we had arrived at, I was swatting a text / like a mosquito. I do the same to snow, / which is actually a dream insect, / but too beautiful to look at.
2 Poems in Common Measure
Common Measure
even the gods / playing hide-and-seek / stumble out / of the ocean / in awe / terrible / blotting out / the sun / say ok / your turn / to hide
Poem of Thanks II
Action Spectacle
I’d probably watch a real soap opera / where clouds cleaned the sky or // got bitchy about cohabitating / and always spilling over.
Where We Are Headed
Bullshit Lit
The body as spectacle. The body / as a means to an end. The end / as a means for spectacle. / The means of our bodies, all.
2 Poems in Adult Groceries
Adult Groceries
God is too small. He is meant to be the last, / but the rest of the sky keeps planning more // which is a little sad. My friend filled / my hands with rocks. Not that kind of fill, / I mean taxidermy, only the good rocks, / the unsmooth ones that no one throws.
2 Poems at Tyger Quarterly
Tyger Quarterly
Zippers wake up the sun and the ritual act / involves such delicate fingers of pine.
No Verbal Equivalent
MIDLVLMAG
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Micro-Meta at Metatron
Metatron Press
Listen, poem with no hands in it, / back off and like, keep your distance. / If I say the sky is what holds us together / then you’d better be, let’s call it, / a little nicer to its clouds.
4 Poems at ITERANT
ITERANT
I speak in keys. I graph the sublime / in concentric circles, swallow // the stratosphere of red light. / Like a word stalled on tongue.
Intaglio
THRUSH
Water is mostly hurting itself in funny ways / but we are the ones videotaping. / A real soap opera would be like clouds / if clouds weren’t so bitchy about letting us ride them.
3 Poems at Reap Thrill
Reap Thrill
Light does so many cool tricks / it should win all the awards. / I’m sending it my purple / and not-purple hearts / at speeds I can’t comprehend.
2 Poems at Grotto
Grotto
The latest vices wear their skeletons / on the outside like an insect.
The Song of Love
Collide Zine
I'm building the topological opposite / of a knot. I'm taking up everything / from scratch again until my statements converge.
Satellite
Poet's Row
there's a rumor growing / in my lungs / about panic / how it’s the only / reasonable approach / to most phenomena
from Poem of Thanks VIII
Voicemail Poems
I see the yeti / Ayla yells at a book / we’ve lost the cover / and the hardback / is a wordless / nature scene / otherwise / I melt into / a warm light / again / my mind / a village / empty of people / and then full
from Poem of Thanks VI
Buffalo x8
There are only a few ways to be dead and still / hurl insults at traffic or stars. I practice / the 3rd and 4th variations.
Nightmoves and Interview
Rappahannock Review
when I first searched pikuach nefesh / google thought I wanted a pikachu fish / and was perfectly pleased to oblige / with some cute pics
from Poem of Thanks III
Sprung Formal
Memory is not unlike a rowing motion / or digesting fake sugar / under a perfectly pine-branched evening.
2 Poems in Secret Restaurant
Unknown
We bad for machines. We can’t depend on fingers. / We can postcard into mock rainforests // but no one wants to tell / how hurt they really are.
Automaton in the Plenum Desert
Not My Style
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2 Poems in OVER/EXPOSED
OVER/EXPOSED
I have no authority to say anything. / I clap my hands and a cat runs out of the room. / This is magic. It is expensive, / but well within your means.
A Poem in which I Avoid My Guilt
Okay Donkey
Outside, the peaches catch fire. / I am all smoke and spiritual harm. / At 2pm, customers / struggle in like ants, / up one nostril, out the other. / It’s so intimate in here. Please / do not take anything, / it’s attached to my skin.
When We Look At Things We Steal Their Color and Grow Heavy Under Their Weight
Rinky Dink Press
Night opens on a hinge / howling and bellowing, / a long cold corridor of stars / consuming all.
Night Terrors
Heavy Feather Review
What form does violence take when it enters us? How does it announce itself? By what mechanisms, what symbols? Are these symbols themselves affected, or are they implicated? These are questions posed by Juliet Cook’s poetry chapbook
Violence of Craft: Your Mouth is Moving Backwards by Juliet Cook
Philly Chapbook Review
Maybe we are written by language / instead of the other way around: / we find ourselves crawling back into the egg / on shore and it’s the grammar alone / that keeps us moving.
5 Poems at Eunoia Review
Eunoia Review
Later, I am afraid of the way / my arms repeat themselves. / In a house / with the only window in the world, / a man destroying things / from their insides.
Poetics of Place
SWAMP
I’m practicing sun vowels. Hibernation, sun vowels, hibernation, sun vowels. Like how seasons are one way of breathing.
Baboon Moon
BULL
We were working with a botched biopsy / of the twentieth century, so who could blame us?
4 Poems in Winged Penny Review
Winged Penny Review
There’s splendid hunger in / these wantings. The field of desire / falls apart.
2 Poems in Bullshit Lit
Bullshit Lit
as if it were an inexhaustible hunger. / heavy heavy says the earth. / the ocean you were drowning in / could fit the palm of my hand. //
Ophelia
Collide Zine
I spend so long / in the same memory /that it snows
Topology
A-Minor Magazine
Outlines suffer the pain of defining. Even this bit / between us catches the wind and wants nothing / more than to float away like a hair. And then does.
Poem with Many Things on Fire
Many Nice Donkeys
Maybe the soul is joined to the body by deep pits of water: / you pull feathers out of your mouth / and walk around a crowded airport
Carrying Water
ONE ART
you said the body / is the spatial architecture of the idea / that night your soul in my chest / a pale blue cylinder / trembling a great distance away
Light Works its Way through the Body Slowly
Halfway Down the Stairs
It was all body language and occasional / waiting until we died. It was all / hoodwink samsara. When we encounter // we mean against meaning.
2 Poems from Graphic Violence Lit
Graphic Violence Lit
Today, the moon is a unicycle / and it is supposed to be a joke. / We take off west and invent forgiveness / using each other’s pale light.
2 Poems from BRUISER
BRUISER
Palimpsests
voidspace
No one is saying / words spherically and intoned / in pink-peach flesh. No one / is speaking in dust wounds.
2 Poems from HAD
HAD
The whippoorwills hid where the river was / and all they could do when we found it was sing / and that was alright, mostly. The ducks / were decoy ducks and the grass / was decoy grass, / but the water was just water.
2 Poems from Bodega Magazine
Bodega Magazine
The machine you made speaks with a diamond cutter / and a city of paper, even though all it does / is count backwards and tell the brother / where the bird is.
Taxonomy
Toho Journal
Constellations is a film poem that is a part of the collaborative book Or Else They Are Trees with poetry by Michael Bagwell and artwork by Rebecca Miller, published by El Aleph Press
Constellations
Or Else They are Trees
What I built did what could have been done / with a paper bag, but I did it with toothpicks / and the sinew of a raccoon. // There is no ocean, but that isn’t your fault. / You just like the letter o.
3 Poems from Menacing Hedge
Menacing Hedge
The only way to say a thing is not to say it. / We are on the vast edge of a system of not saying, / torn apart by endless cable wires / and all we can feel is shame. // To take something from everyone / is a technique for lowering the sky.
4 Poems from SOFTBLOW
SOFTBLOW
we bury species finger-deep / and become the fidelity of objects / i know you need approximation // but we all halo the sky, / all let it rain a bit
2 Poems from Madcap Review
Madcap Review
I can only believe in the holy spirit / if there are enough ruins nearby and the sheepsounds / of our feelings lie down with the clouds. / Even the grass in Scotland knows enough / to stare at the sky.
Patterns of Movement
Madcap Review
reck / less / and / open / hearted / How / do they / even / make / something / so lone / ly so / alone
3 Poems from Angry Old Man
Angry Old Man
I couldn’t find the remote so I went around / pretending to be myself and planted words / like ‘azure’ in two poems.
2 Poems from Whiskey Island
Whiskey Island
End Days
Ghost Ocean Magazine
The new technique involves closing / your eyes firmly so that the entrance to paradise / is easier to find: you are waiting for a feeling / that is like finding the bottom of a pool / with your bare feet.
Technique Two: Melancholy and the Music at the Entrance of Paradise
Stone Highway Review
We were working with a botched biopsy / of the twentieth century, so who could blame us? / My mother was the year of the horse; / she cradled me in her days and cut / my umbilical cord with the teeth of December
3 Poems from Umbrella Factory
Umbrella Factory
As the city of Philadelphia unfolded / into an origami fish in the rearview mirror, / the heart stayed where the blood is.
Prelude: To the Islands I have Known
Great Weather for Media
Sleep falls apart in front of me / like a slab of concrete / broken and carried off / by hundreds of gray-winged moths.
Dissipate
Unknown
the storm put its lips to the hollowed-out / section of my chest and pulled in its lungs / to produce a long, clear note.
And Into the Poem
Unknown
Nothing has seeped into your skin / even as you were gathering, note by note, / the ocean in your palms.
Two Poems from Decompression
Unknown
Phantom Kangaroo
Phantom Kangaroo
You take off the skin suit / and hang it from a hook in the mantle / through the left nostril / where smoke still lingers.
2 Poems from Nthposition
Unknown
Short, Fast And Deadly: Issue 29 and Anthology
Short Fast and Deadly