when cooking, mama says she is burning the uniform of the country I was dragged through. she knows better than to come from rib. cheek, maybe. or fishhook.
Jill Chan has three poems at ~ isacoustic* ~
the leg I called footprint. the bread that had skin.
cancer is a pop gun and when I say missing I mean her body was seen by the lonely / her body / was having children but only those / we’d seen / in photos / I mean bus
of a christian
swim team
CURRENTLY:
AT isacoustic*
https://isacoustic.wordpress.com/
CONTRIBUTORS:
Jon Cone
and the heart-ache
that occupies the land is yours alone in hope. – {from} YOU ARE NOT LATE, IT IS ONLY THE PRELUDE THAT PLAYS
/
Adam Hughes
Tonight the fugitive gods limp
away, – {from} Kemper Street Hymns
//
Leanne Drapeau
the body broken,
poured out. – {from} love has all its teeth intact
///
Agnieszka Mauch
I can’t
move my arms enough to create a
notion of the sea – {from} FURTHER DISRUPTIONS
////
Amelia Kester
I will find
the soft people – {from} BLACKBERRIES
/////
Brian Dawson
…sway against forgotten statues
until all that is left is the sibilance of old secrets. – {from} Nine
//////
Ed Churchouse
…mute blue comma,
w/ tiny, turned off
fullstop eyes,
you force
me caesura early
in the walking
home from work. – {from} Dead Bird
///////
REVIEWS:
Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly – poems – Darren C Demaree
thru December 25th, 20% off all print books on Lulu with coupon code of LULU20
10% off all print books at Lulu thru December 14th with coupon code of LULU10
my newest is there / {everything I touch remembers being my hand}
~~~
and, some poems, from the book:
[food] ~ partial ~
the first person to use these steps went down these steps. violence is the new past. I see a dove and think god will never know who it was ate his crushed light bulb. I betray my ear. the seashell of the stomach.
–
I try, but can’t make my bed. mom says maybe I’m grief. after coming back to touch me, she wishes herself a bird.
I hope she eats.
–
what
will I never
see
lost
arachnid, a triangle
drawn
by others-
my legs make me lonely.
dream, put me down.
~~~
[alas, touch]
sound’s shy historian, digger
of a hole
for the…
View original post 16 more words
there’s no great detail to go into. her baby in a medicine cup, our small priest
making us feel poor in the bathroom we don’t use…
–
a face from the world’s flattest mirror
the elderly
our unpraised
orphans
with healed
and self-taught
toys
she has a nest for a heart and takes her meals between confession and acne. death guesses correctly what birth knows. was god made her ghost the color of my teeth.
kingsoftrain 