From the Desire Field I don’t call it sleep anymore. I’ll risk losing something new instead— like you lost your rosen moon, shook it loose. But sometimes when I get my horns in a thing—a wonder, a grief or a line of her—it is a sticky and ruined fruit to unfasten from, despite my trembling.… Continue reading Natalie Díaz
Let me call my anxiety, desire, then. Let me call it, a garden. Maybe this is what Lorca meant when he said, verde que te quiero verde— because when the shade of night comes, I am a field of it, of any worry ready to flower in my chest. — Natalie Díaz,… Continue reading Natalie Díaz
The dustin my lungs, Knock itout of me. — Marty McConnell, from “Elegy” Court Green 12 (2015)
I never meant to break–but streetlights dressed her gold.The curve and curve of her shoulders–the hum and hive of them,moonglossed pillory of them–nearly felled me to my knees.How can I tell you–the amber of her.The body of honey–I took it in my hands. — Natalie Díaz, from “Waist and Sway,” Postcolonial Love Poem (Graywolf Press,… Continue reading Natalie Díaz
Give me a field, give me a big sky. A mountain. Give me your mouth. — Anis Mojgan, from “Cradle,” Songs from Under the River: A Collection of Poetry (Write Bloody Publishing; First Edition, March 15, 2013)
…if I ever feel far away know I am not gone. — Andrea Gibson, from “Royal Heart,” Truce (2013)
We are ghosts / hungry for something bigger than what our mouths are kissing — Anis Mojgani, from “The Branches are Full and These Orchards are Heavy.” Rattle #27, Summer 2007.
Make love to melike you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did. ― Buddy Wakefield, “We Were Emergencies,” Gentleman Practice. (Write Bloody Publishing April 15, 2011)
You can take this mouththis wound you wantbut you can’t kissand make itbetter. ― Daphne Gottlieb, from “Why Things Burn,” Why Things Burn. (Soft Skull Press; First Edition edition May 10, 2001)
The Quiet World In an effort to get people to lookinto each other’s eyes more,and also to appease the mutes,the government has decidedto allot each person exactly one hundredand sixty-seven words, per day. When the phone rings, I put it to my earwithout saying hello. In the restaurantI point at chicken noodle soup.I am adjusting… Continue reading Jeffrey McDaniel
The Vale of Soul-Making 