Tres recuerdos en verso I. The Legendary Children we are all snakes devouring and being devoured by those who remind us we are human II. Apsis there is no perigee where we’re standing but if there is such a thing as witchcraft, use it now before I leave without saying your …
Dante come to life
in ripped thumbnail blood fresh from a circuit
around the lightless insides of my skin
at six quarts a minute; mostly all me
and a bit of something not very nice.
In touching we opened a door we could not close and did not want to. I said sleep in my bed
but I meant tonight not every night still there she was every night I just kept sinking to the bottom like a stone
i know you would like that:
alien sand packed thick in my throat
or salt sucking the teeth out my mouth.
don’t matter, huh? you just want me undone,
any one of nature’s big legged rickshaw pullers
can get the glory of dragging my undersong through to silent finish.
I’m building a nest to give birth to nothing in.
I’m ripping fur from my chest like rabbits do.
I’m down with down. I’m your dream girl but only if you stay up all night thinking about other stuff.
I am half the me I was before you. Crease my skin and apply steady pressure. My flimsy lungs will tear because you don’t know which flaps to fold and I can only take so much wear.
lotus-kneed, showered in gasoline.
People bowing to him, silent
but for his flesh
Our poetry editor for November and December is Dawn Lundy Martin, who is an author of three books of poetry, and three chapbooks. Of her latest collection, Life in a Box is a Pretty Life (Nightboat Books 2015), Fred Moten says, “Imagine Holiday singing a Blind alley, or Brooks pricing hardpack dandelion, and then we’re seized and thrown into the festival of …