where is the river :: a poetry experiment

Katy Lederer :: Five poems J.L Moultrie :: Flowers Only Confess When They're Alone Paul Ilechko :: Two poems Roxanna Bennett :: Four poems rob mclennan :: from the book of smaller

Shunt Shunting the straw was a girl dressed all in blue. She wore her hair long cum long befoe c. She knew then the way then was what the sinister knew was wrong. She knew it was wrong to hang he knew that it was wrong to bury his face. So he buried his face in the long hair. And he knew her then as his dear. Saddle Saddle Saddle up. We did saddle like fifes. Long neck and brief thighs hook and then hook again— the stray dirt darting before the break— Spirit fleeing sick Stallion—straight beneath his ankles His sweaty ankles, rook-like and sallow. Saddles long white bow and curve at the spine the sheer numbers—still reproachful at the lips and supine, gasp for air. The spine so saddled. Caitif My caitif came toward the house. My caitif came like a jug to the door. There is a ball in his mouth. There is also a calf in the grass and its legs stick out wildly. A caitif too. Creep through and break— with grass all captivating. Gras...

The Moral ity Tourniquet , Lunar Edition        O Serket, mother of scorpions               She Who Causes the Throat to Breathe                      your daughter is a snake sack harrowed Does your bird-headed brother make house calls        Liquefy my last meal, masticate my nicked snack, a bad seed squeezed from a cinched shut cannula        Shed skin ribbons shake loose the formula               for The Moral ity Tourniquet , Lunar Edition                      O Serket, wonder blossoms wombward but I am more patina, scale-skittering layers               unwound than fact, more ether than spider                           ...

Fractions (Sound Examined) Squeeze the fractions from out of my heart      the thirds and quarters      leaving only wholeness  squeeze out language      let sound replace gesture as the guiding principle  remembering that everything is abstraction at some level      we build our own patterns to model the things that we believe in a life even half-lived is a better life than one never lived at all      we live out our partials as we search for completeness  as we search for complexity inside the “natural”                    * * * * * I am in a room inside a house sitting at a glass desk that reflects only what has angles to light sources I am searching for a certain state a certain stage where quietness is possible where the sound of traffic whispers past in a series of small crescendos       ...

A Confederate General in Charlottesville, Virginia Where does the world end, and people begin? I can’t look at this now. As we shift, so too, our lens. An obelisk of uncommon shape. Why does this matter? We can’t pretend this is all past tense. Privilege: the luxury to ignore. When so many can’t. This isn’t about free speech. They came with clubs, with bats, with raised hands. Symbols imbibed with power. My heart was a weapon. How are you so unafraid. History belongs in a museum. We don’t want your hate. Great Barrington MA Is travel writing truly dead? We drive across the border, beyond which we neither write, nor look. When did the Mahican? When did the English? We are from a future world. The shutters lose their sheen, their black paint. When did the Dutch? Kills, those waterways. The creeks. Amsterdam, or Rome. What shines is the appeal. In the reflection of speech, several voices. When did the wealthy? With the arrival of the railroad. Hence, the day agrees with my step. ...

Flowers Only Confess When They’re Alone There is       a      storm      inside these blooming      flowers stoic and      ruinous the pale blue      gives way to lightly stricken nerves      amidst      the ample expanses I am      a      transient overcome and      replete with terse      desires a gathering      of      moths      exorcised the      hysterical pain as the still humid      air      hugged our lungs      as a batch      of      feathers kissed my face I pictured you      peering      at me through the ...