he takes baths instead of showers
the boy
who believes
in ghosts
no clock
fast
we live
in the house
beside the house
we bought
treaty, grief, moon
some far
tornado
some nakedness
What Bodies Have I Moved
poems, Chelsea Dingman
Madhouse Press, 2018
~
‘…Archangel Michael, Abraham—
young boys again. You ask them about
hunger.’ – {from} Reconstructing the Saints
‘…What if
the next city…is the city where I’ll find my own
ashes?’ – {from} I Imagine How the Man Who built Her Hung Himself
Chelsea Dingman’s What Bodies Have I Moved is a book of foreground and footprint for which you’ll need both hands. In it, people are place, and voice a narrator of excavations undertaken to identify the carrier of the chalk. What alarm does one set for stillness? It is in this interrupted dream of a history, a history that doesn’t repeat itself so much as stutter the unspeakable, that Dingman is able to unearth the out-of-body. The past is childless. The present a map of our preconceived notions of ruin. As in Thaw…
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AT {isacoustic*}
Nicole Melchionda
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/10/person-nicole-melchionda-four-poems/
Margarita Serafimova
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/08/person-margarita-serafimova-seven-poems/
Rebecca Ruth Gould
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/07/person-rebecca-ruth-gould-three-poems/
Rosemarie Dombrowski
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/07/person-rosemarie-dombrowski-six-poems/
&
reflection on two books by Sophia Naz (Date Palms and Pointillism)
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/04/date-palms-pointillism-poetry-sophia-naz/
reflection on Marisol Baca’s Tremor
https://isacoustic.com/2018/05/01/tremor-poems-marisol-baca/
reflection on Kristina Marie Darling’s Dark Horse
https://isacoustic.com/2018/04/27/dark-horse-poems-kristina-marie-darling/
/
as such:
editors: Barton Smock and those he happens to be talking with
contact/submit: isacousticsubmissions@gmail.com
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or send to bartsmock@gmail.com
*for donations of 5.00 or more, one will receive a privately self-published work of 60 poems by editor Barton Smock called ~mood piece for baby blur~
in how many dreams have you appeared
that were not
at first
yours
–
hey
–
in movies
–
when streetlights go out one by one
I don’t feel
interrupted
metaphor to grief: one hand grows faster than the other. blood is just milk that can’t see. the way you hold a gun makes me think of a baby’s ear. I do not want a long life.
/. SELF
*recent work
[musics, other]
mother’s
farsick
palm, father’s
pack
of disappearing
nails-
our goldfish
insomnia
~
[lawn musics]
books on arson, grammar, vandalism…
god, multiple owners.
a typewriter
touched by father
at night.
the electric chair my brother imagined
& the hair
my sister…
adam (who’s never known the age of eve
~
[blank elegy]
after death
nothing
(oh citizen)
of god
~
[after field]
bagging the bright mouse in the deer faith of my youth
(missed
appropriately
by any
father
said bone
is all the light
blood
gets…
proof / my last / ghost
and secrecy
genetic
~
[I still bring snow]
I think mom’s new dog must have the bones of a kite. I have a lover, now. a he, a beekeeper. a she if she saddens in the nearness. a nothing, a dowry. ghost china. spacesuits for stillborns. under this blanket, a puppet reads to…
View original post 233 more words
if childless, we call it mother.
–
how long
did you fake
being young?
–
this part / of her poem / is empty
–
three men remove my shoes
–
translates
to yesterbed
–
self-portrait in milk
