as if night
knows when
to sleep
I’m sorry you had to see that. your college. your healthcare. your body and your spirit. but, I am not sorry you were here to see it. not sorry you’ll remain. we’ve always gone without. now, we share that without with absence. be kind, but keep count. this is not the fault of one.
first fog
and the speechless
are giving
birth
longing is a stickman’s tail
a boy I know
checks
for his nose
whose father hits a deer
whose mother won’t mention
the puppet’s
bra
I tell it what I tell my stomach. if I die, you die. but there are limits to what the past can do. I had a kid once. insects were invisible. my mom was a face turning two from god. never worm do I know where to start. nightfall, and the number of hands I’ve collected hasn’t changed. brother still kicks himself for the nine months he couldn’t film. the best thing he wrote down had in it a father, who’d never seen a wheelchair, setting a trap for a wheelchair. it is like me to wait.
motion detectors
on the loss
of imagination
the dream
aware
of its fame
the toy exile of a lightning storm
the scene
anti
pastoral, deadpan
crow
in mom’s
blue streak
dolls
moved
by what
she ate
Sarah Marcus in conversation with Melissa Studdard at American Microreviews and Interviews:
http://www.americanmicroreviews.com/sarah-marcus-interview
~
some words on Nothing Good Ever Happens After Midnight, GTK Press, poems by Sarah Marcus:
~
this guy, Ed Churchouse:
https://bluebirdanddeadcat.wordpress.com/
~
this poem by Frank Lima (Juarez):
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/58493
~
poem of mine:
[snakeskin]
by the time god gives you a daughter
he’s already met
the one person
in the crowd
he can make
disappear.
older now, sadder
I admire
love.
in becoming less alone, the beasts have begun to care what I do with my body. this thing I save
it crawls on water.
kingsoftrain 