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Author Archives: perfectsublimemasters
And in short, I was afraid —Prufrock I had tasted them all. The low offerings that dangled over fences like a truce: in spring, the soft avocados, the shameless mango, naked as a crime, in summer, the loveless opal and … Continue reading
What do we do with them now, these new dead? Where do we put them? How can we keep them company in the remaining earth, too full already with our living— Christ, with our dead? How do we launch their … Continue reading
Margaret finds out she’s made of clay when she presses into the crook of her elbow and pulls the flesh right off. She doesn’t tell anyone – not her older brother who is no longer a boy but a … Continue reading
summer swoons, bats her lashes at the wind, and we skip rocks on the sidewalk, watch them melt like the plastic chairs on our porches. school’s out so we skim magazines and pretend like we are somebodies. shoes off, eyes … Continue reading
I don’t see how someone looks at me and musters the gall to say that I am middle class; I am clothed in blue- black skin here in the United States of America with childhood memories of sewer rats on … Continue reading
In the ‘Singles’ restaurant, I catch myself in the sheen coming off my neighbour’s dinner plate: I’m a magnet in search of iron; a bird of paradise stripped of its feathers. Once I could wax up my ears, tie myself … Continue reading
alligator jawed – that sinewy snap realization that after all this time two wrongs do make a right and other stories whispered by seashells (who have since gone mouthless) like the movies or good pain or you have potential which … Continue reading
First he changed the sky. Blue blue. SAVE. And then her face. Harley upped the res and stared into the screen, fingers paused above the keys. Christy21. The image blurred with tears he knew came from a thing called ‘grief’ … Continue reading
Replay the night when your worst nightmare gained a pulse and grew two legs that refused to stop running towards you. Tattoo the word ‘Death’ on your wrist twelve times, so whenever you go to check the time you know … Continue reading
walking past the statue of our founding slaver the gears and cogs inside me keep it down to a low hum, rise up to a steampunk clanging screech when we pass the food basics where bananas are 49 cents a … Continue reading
When you gave me that token of your affection I must confess I used it to take the subway uptown to meet up with someone who didn’t love me as much because it’s been taxing with you always asking how … Continue reading
This is not a suicide note. I am king of the tiniest things. Are there colors we can’t see yet? Has anyone named this war? The luster of pearl in the Lens of my eye Like a fleck of gold … Continue reading
“How long will I live?” This is grace. My signature scoops the meat of the paper. So food is only synecdoche in the company of the gods. I shove it all together and just start cooking. Dinner is ready around … Continue reading
A line of melody struck out from summit. The second song ever sung, a reflection of Eve in the lake like an echo, animate Eden, alien verbs breathing, sun-drop eyes too far-gone to mention, glowing as a million redfish cut … Continue reading
You’re all ghosts at 3am. So when my tiny love came at 3 I was concerned. (Who is this girl you say you love and comes to you in a fog?) I’m barefooted. Breathless, she probes the space in shadows … Continue reading
I found my name in a book, amid nonsense: …cool rewrite power rewrite rewrite rewrite feb rewrite continuous rewrite to rewrite martha rewrite engber rewrite rewrite rewrite ( ) rewrite… (Alan Sondheim, “@touch,” VEL, 73) I found the passage when searching my name on Amazon to … Continue reading
—The Cobblestone, Dublin, Ireland This is the place that is the poem This is the place you don’t care that your colors don’t rhyme the length of the lines awry and free angsts in squirming stitchings successive visions foisted upon … Continue reading
Be born in a place that will become a war in thirty-six years. Remain as it festers. Molt three children, very young. Lose them, bury them in your backyard. Choose a border to cross. When the war’s rattle becomes louder, … Continue reading
darkening silence bends into our night talking halting our answers Roberta “Bobby” Santlofer (1943-2020) was a mother of sons, an avid reader, and a poet. A posthumous collection of her poetry is forthcoming.
The lines in this night sky are oval going a bit gaunt, & the ghoul speaks shrilly at the very bottom then the sound catches the branches and brown leaves. A cackling sound follows and continues as the wind learns … Continue reading
Perspiring mists seep into exposed skin at the shore’s brow. Speech argues with the folds in a forehead. Stunted breaths pause at the cliff’s edge, sending skidding rocks that announce the distance to the waves. Their imprint dissipates beneath steely … Continue reading
One character exemplifies restraint, his shadow touches the world, not heavily, not pulling on the air. One character comes from the land of the dead. He is made of organs again, and joy. Bird-loud, tilting at the small specks nearest … Continue reading
i. This is the desert of patience and perspective. It shimmers with misdirection. Stars burn in waves of loss, imply to silver skin that they are cool. Colors move in their different speeds, some beating and sweating, some not. Colors … Continue reading
The offer to pack up, come home again, comes with the usual deterrents, those archaic stirred-up memories: of hymns and after-sermon sheet cake, the dull scrape of plastic forks on paper plates and talks with almost-strangers on the state of … Continue reading