Tag Archives: Michael H. Brownstein

The Work of the Soul

But what do you call the weather that comes off your skin? The earnest breath of hard work? Soil that sews itself Into your fingernails, your ankles? Is there a name For the bent back of labor, the focus on … Continue reading

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Cold

thick and thicker swamps the air with bogeymen. Dust sparrows hide within the long-leafed grasses bundled and bundled. Sunlight drenches the windows drowning the sky with light and storm, but there is no storm only cold blue and bluer. Michael … Continue reading

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Laughter in the Home for the Dead

we thought it a daffodil kind of glitter childish a tattoo of smile but found instead a slip of color dying in slow motion Michael H. Brownstein’s book, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else: A Poet’s Journey To The Borderlands Of … Continue reading

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How to Build Your First Casket

Select a wood neither sun-stressed nor rain-damp, depressed or gruel. Measure the angels carefully for they wish to sleep on the way home. Leave a line of light, an object of love and something of influence. Stain every area with … Continue reading

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My Town

The air waterlogged, the moon full, the sky a deeper blue When you split a pole with a stranger When you walk the uphill walkways on the eastside My town deadened and terminally ill The library parking lot is empty … Continue reading

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Edges

We were not statues, no, nor were we men, just two boys, I the taller holding the knife blade locked open over our heads, the two of us grappling over it on the perfectly green grass in the perfectly green … Continue reading

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Dearest Life/Dearest Breath

Dearest death on a pumpkin seed Dearest correspondent Dearest heir to the roses Dearest marijuana bird’s sweet flight Dearest season of autism and leaf Dearest blossom and hummingbird, Dearest cloud store and packet of underwear— There is a reason to … Continue reading

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Viewing the Cloud Plain

We awake to a place we do not understand, folds of skin starch empty of breath. The nearby stream the only space it knows, the river trapped in the channel it creates for itself and boulder puddles eroding into muddy … Continue reading

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The World is Not Coming to an End

One one-by-four oak plank, a waterlogged salt-stained antler of driftwood, the soft skin of butternut bark and scar. The world is coming to an end, she said, and the young girl down the street tied a dog’s leash around her … Continue reading

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Elias

Elias of the new temptation Knots his mother’s hair inside his mouth Crawls until the world ignites beneath his skin I feed him for the first time Words no longer hold images I work the language of hands Threading pipe … Continue reading

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The Nation We Know as Love

within the confines of love, a shallow swamp, a vast beach, a deep well of fresh water— in the place of in-love, the swamp becomes a garden, the beach palisade and sand, the             well deeper— over time, being loved and … Continue reading

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A Gecko’s Storm

You go away an albino garden snake and come home the color of gecko. The air smell, a lake of legs, this ether of vocabulary— the familiar in the darkness different somehow, even the familiar pattern of blemish and scar. … Continue reading

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Inside

I don’t have to run very fast, I don’t even have to run. What I have to do is tune myself for what is yet to come. The body isn’t always ready— there are many lies that have to be … Continue reading

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The Edge of the Forest

The red wash of bark and leaf, the lightning strike white of another, and the wind river of everything else branch, leaf, trunk, nest, water. Sunlight channels into lime and emerald. Late autumn, the center of the forest holding on, … Continue reading

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At Last

The simple lies so easy not to tell, One hell of ice. A Hall of Fame for those not nice, The predator of life. One cannot hold a flame bare in their hands, But one can help blisters grow And … Continue reading

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The Picnic

When they sat down, they took everything out of their life— rocks, moons, great white swans, whooping cranes, the name of every flightless bird from Guatemala, space debris and every tome on evolutionary design. Soon they had erased the nobody … Continue reading

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Winter Storm in the Distance Gaining Breath

thorn of winter hedge of storm brittle frost brittle ice flow of leaf through wind and wind’s cloud light uneven splintered splashed slashed spliced Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published throughout the small and literary presses. His work has … Continue reading

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Essence

Here is the shallow stone filled with graves near the River Styx. Rags of night cover tall weed and dying grass, steep canyons and intersections of cave and shadow censor the moon, and darkening whirlwinds of bats and brackish wind … Continue reading

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