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. /
Brandon Downing’s collections of poetry include The Shirt Weapon (2002), Dark Brandon
Year after year, adaptation: neverunwieldy, but steady. Sometimes careless. Always there is traffic, and groceries.Those are the easy things. And then sometimesthese ruptures, or raptures. Great distancesexpand / contract with my breath
Parched When I woke up this morning I was thirsty for waterso I went into the kitchen and made a coffee. Then I reclined on the couch, warming my ovarieswith my laptop
a quarto for L.B. all alone in the dark
I’ll tell you from experience that the night sky looks different after your mom dies. When the moon is out and you remember some old poem about how every person that has
a cicadaeats itself whole a cicadaisn’t scared of you. At the hotel, the sky was. A gold balloonshaped like #1 flew past the mountain & I wasn’t scared of you. * #1 could
I bore the badlands, burned my birth certificate in a sweat of cedar. Shed light upon the burial. So obsessed with stars I toiled with the earth, knowing nothing of the sacred, where
how the winged ants poured from holes in the orange hill and we kneltrapt as they clambered up blades of grass in clusters and hurled themselves into the wind carried like small parachuted soldiers in
In a cafe this morning I jammed my toast with a knife as I listened to a pair discuss how to brand comfort, one of them maintaining that good design is dependent
I see a shadow at the edge of everything, dear friend, I see a darkness, anhinga with its ink wings wide. Some mornings the world smells of ocean, others of rust. Some
