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.
does echo
have a word
for dream
the wolf in stork’s nightmare
speaks dolphin
what do I miss
my blood
your collection
of pea-sized
pillows
before the feast
there is one
erasing
the doll’s
eyebrows
how long might satellites mourn? sickness took the lord. a scarecrow the pulse of a cricket.
not every image was worth the effort.
for the stomach
served
as is
to the ghost
of god
the under
born
fight tooth
and kneecap
in the same
spiritual
darkness
took mouth
mine
for a dead
ear
we’re not allowed to be in the house past a certain time. we read in tongues from the book of that’s how babies disappear. we hide the insomniac’s handsoap. our fathers do impressions. our mothers the bulk of the digging. we waste little. blood, paint. from our dream supply.
