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Author Archives: perfectsublimemasters
How to Return
Look around and orient to the here and now. Touch your hands to your shoulders, massage the knots of the tree out and into the earth. Accept stillness, listen to the breath expanding in the body, expanding in everyone’s bodies. … Continue reading
The end of winter brings change:
snowdrops emerge through old dirt; sharp staccato birdsong from the cedars beside the house; snow melts and a trickle of something familiar seeping in through the cracks. Your poems are still in my pantry, sticky under jars of jam we … Continue reading
16th Avenue
Behind is nothing but tenebrous mountain peaks looming close to home and a trail of oil from something rumbling in the dark. Ahead farmlands sink impetuous beneath a foot of rain so fence posts protrude like arms from a grave … Continue reading
Decomposition
Even without an audience you’ll fight anything: the last peach rotting in the fruit basket, the dust I leave under the bed and the big dumb December moon. Your jaw unhinges like the snake you ran over on the way … Continue reading
Dancing Fools
In a house with no doors we lie on the floor while the ceiling whirs vigorously above us. You pull me up, furniture vanishes, and we gyrate through a bare room to no music until we’re stiff with longing and … Continue reading
A Beacon of Hard Questions
If I look out my window at night I see the lone light on the mountain across the valley, glinting rude accusations at me, a conversation I’ll sidestep until I die. It’s there every night regardless of weather and makes … Continue reading
0. Pretty Things Before A Sad Summer
A spider—orange heart on his round back and green spots below his eyes; sitting on the electrical box by the soccer field. Weaving, building his tunnels like he has decided to live there forever. Watching the sunset sweep past each … Continue reading
A Catalog of Marriage
You still don’t know I went to a psychic the first month after we married to see if I should stay—a lifetime suddenly felt like a drowning, me looking up through water at your face distorted by waves & a … Continue reading
One of Those Winter Evenings
Equipped with scissors, I head toward the shed, a plywood structure with spaces between the boards. Mom has handed me over to her friend, Ann, while Mom celebrates her divorce and vacations for two weeks in Florida. To secure a … Continue reading
Ars Botanica
Blind tendril curving toward the light, opening upward, intent, buttressed by a vine coiled about its stem like a cable, lifting its budding tip, an arrow aimed at the sky. Growth reaching, silent engines building, to what end? This vegetal … Continue reading
Instant Coffee
In the field it was medicinal. Huddled under my camo hooch, raindrops pelting the poncho. Meals-ready-to-eat came with a water heater: steaming sludge in a tin cup, monitoring radio static in a storm while the joes slept in the chilled … Continue reading
Reptilian
On a quiet afternoon in spring you ask me to paint your nails with watercolors. Of course I indulge you. You still think there’s nothing I don’t know how to do. How could you conclude otherwise? Remembering just this morning … Continue reading
Catskill Eagle
For S.N. Come here, sky child, and let me hold you. Step down from the clouds and I will wring the thunder from your hair. We have left you up there in that ribbed cage for too long now stranded … Continue reading
What is the distant universe to a mother on vacation?
—after the publication of the James Webb Space Telescope photographs Time is everywhere. She lifted her family Here, their first vacation in two years, to breathe at a distance from the unstoppable current of their lives. But she’s found her … Continue reading
The Autopsy Of A Body In The Hands Of Grief
this is what I mean when I say, I’ve made it through hell before: my body / becomes a tulip / budding grief / a river / gushing blood / & an hematoma / brimming weaknesses / on my face … Continue reading
My Body Is A Harem Of Littered Debris
“…more than 1000 people killed in Afghanistan earthquake…” — CNN June 22, 2022 report. & each day, I try to wash myself in the sun without burning, without becoming a sculpture of charcoals. I try to paint myself in the … Continue reading
A Funeral in the Wild
An uprooted tree rests on the shoreline. The waters have buried its branches and reeds have come to pay their respects. Above the black glass of lake, the sky covers the trees like a mother swaddling her infant. The willow … Continue reading
Immune Response
The year the world ended my hair fell out in clumps, like fiber optic Christmas lights stringed around my hands or blue blooded worms, dyed artificial and neon I could feel it tangling around my fingers I watched it slither … Continue reading
Bloody Mary
Mary Shelley and her friends told scary stories underneath the clouds. It is the middle of May and frost blankets the flowers. My mask steams up my glasses. I hand back a credit card to a bare-faced woman in exchange … Continue reading
Customer Service
When I met my first poet, I had been standing in the same place for ten hours. I was sticky with melted marshmallow and needed more coffee than I had. There was no limit to the number of smiles and … Continue reading
Waiting
Which would you rather have, good food or good sex? says my freshman crush. The question takes me off guard. At eighteen I’m pretty sure I’m the only virgin in the crowded room, all of us swilling cheap beer and … Continue reading
Giving
Wednesday is an ammonite graveyard, a bleached white cove of stone and chert. Daddy long legs are feeling their way through our camp, where our heater singes the air, a blanket lies half-buried. I count their legs aloud with my … Continue reading
Our Cicadas
Overnight the ground becomes Swiss cheese; you overlook the subtlety, first notice them singing, look up into the vibrating trees. Your worried brow asks me about the sudden buzzing; I say—cicadas. You shuffle closer from the sound, my hissing consonants … Continue reading
Crows Through Windows
I dreamt you were a crow outside my window on a gray-white cloud, a black boomerang returning as a bird. I wanted to rub out my lashes, recycle your feathers, help your hollow bones fly home, put birdseed in your … Continue reading
Whitney
I have never been where the road is a straightaway, not for years— had no intentions to ever go back to where the daffodil-dashed lines end on fatigue, where I left Whitney. Where I left Whitney, her campground of velvet … Continue reading
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