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Tag Archives: Lindsay Daigle
It’s not a clock anymore when it finger counts eight nine ten, vanishes like heat, and dies in the morning. When trains are walking voices, but not trains, not worlds of human quarter-lives either. Monsters need friction sparks and maps … Continue reading
Or we stand on the edge together. Who’ll be the looker if I am the laugher my mouth bone-drips watching your mouth and the day comes. Strips of arms know kneeling how can I learn the hole in sky-gutters. Pull … Continue reading
This is a tale of negatives, black on gray on gradation. And the ash scenery slipping, darkened edges with blank labels. Blue Label neat. Blanched lapel, stiff. This is a tail end of whiskey-tunes marching side by side, black eye … Continue reading
Some thin line drawn on some thick white wall kept you warm, made you think aesthetic forest fires are fathers, and mothers are sisters that pour gasoline after meals. Some shade of inner echo made your dumpster-cries sound like slanted … Continue reading
Did you plant the tower? I planted the tower. Did you water the bolts? No, just the nuts. What are you aiming for? Leafless memories. An exchange of city-spit. What am I aiming for? 5 a.m. What happens then? The … Continue reading
after Lorine Niedecker Since the hoar frost lingers in the cemetery past the morning moment the dew dries, long enough to match the color of winter to the named stones beneath the evergreen’s thin branches, perhaps it’s true Gerte didn’t … Continue reading
23. a bench made of branches nestled between leaning trees facing away from the river dressed up with pillows a sunhat 95. “Campfire Girls” cups hooked to their trousers one holding a teapot grass to their shins 160. house raised … Continue reading