After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
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* Voltage-gated pathways are depolarizedand pore-forming membrane proteinsallow calcium influx from adjacent solutions. (Cell insides become saturated) Excitation is mossy fiber runningsouthbound head-stems and paired shootsthrough once-relaxed tissue. * You’ve established rules,preventative
What separates us from our lives / is a see-through thing. /
my last meal as a girl I dined onsnow. the sky snared
I built a sky of my own on my bedroom ceiling. / This sky is bold & bright & blue and I know / the birds will fly away, but it’s okay.
All night, the frost-rimmed windowpane / conducts me into new states of sleep, / while town announcements beckon me back /
from days in my grandmother’s yard, /
but I remember how it felt to be perfectly contained / beside my mom in bed / tucked into her soft t-shirt / while she wrapped around me / pulled me into
in the forest, a debris cloud of woodpeckers crack their throats & the night promises nothing more or less than rain. your damp house huddles low, waiting for wind or a heavy
Brandon Downing’s collections of poetry include The Shirt Weapon (2002), Dark Brandon (2005), AT ME (2010) and, most recently, Mellow Actions (2013). In 2007 he released a feature-length collection of short digital
lucidity a single rope the way in which there is no way detach allow myself a façade indistinguishable from change walk down the blockinto the empty morning air & here small thingsprecious
After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not
Ctrl+F [Find in document: মুনিরা 0 of 0] I recognise this self. in drawings of koi fish andmenthol slicked lips. in weeks spent searching for all the fishbones in a fillet. warm hands
Stand right there. I’m tired of bad poems about nature. I’m over motherhood and cook tops and sweeping up again and again. I want to walk outside under the beamed overpass without thinking about
reading meLevertov on the yellow sofa reading you this line overlo mein reminding me no, we did that in bed reminding you of the resonant frequency of theknitted garment on our taken holiday first weekend away from our architects New Hampshire