my toe is still blushing from meeting your foot at the boardwalk
~Nolcha Fox
Song
I'm
exile
I'm smoke
I'm long dead in the trenches
I am home
nowhere
alive in the fire
erasing words
with the bone of a crow's wing
I'm alone with a voice
of the blank page
The earth knows we’ll return‒‒
our few feeble movements
down under the flowers,
and our names repeated like a song’s chorus
so the ones left won’t forget
through all the winters.
Look, moon, sun, and moon and sun again,
the mist coming down
to the cold lake and the churchyard‒‒
It’ll all be forgotten.
It’s strange how time falls into itself.
One second I’m here, the next
I’m back in middle school---
the hour is bright, my friends there
are so young.
That long dead day is risen
and my life is gone into
its white-gold October
moment, my only
life.
She opened her mouth
and swallowed a bird.
She spit out feathers
instead of words.
~Nolcha Fox
my dad
still never says much
ouija board
~petro c.k.
the chug-chug-chug of a party bus
~petro c.k.
no fewer people
could see me
than
already did
~Noah
Berlatsky
Ocean Daybreak Sketch
Fogshifts
and a respiration of inland trees
Unanchored graves
Foot-tracks of light
opening
along the lengths of the tide
Retreat
Laundry
Expands to fill
All space. All time. The house
Is worn by clothes and we flap loose
Worn
down.
~Noah Berlatsky
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