living inside the world means noticing when the white van leaves and the brown one returns with the groceries to the backyard is full of brambles a rotting wood fence in farm country in the middle, a huge city. this is any--i hear gun shots.  go ice fishing, snow melts on the island i take my dogs to sniff squirrel tracks and muddy. the world is melting my world is

buckwheat flour ice crust
a glint of blue
December
a neighbor shouts, a bus turns, breaks whine, this thin tannic film coats my front tooth,
a grape skin for breakfast

tempts me to exacerbate the condition by sipping red wine. window turn gold
as brown van
parts plain and simple
deeper nothing?
the surface melts

good-bye white van! i'm alone with an interior voice,
dogs
I will you to turn right.
a weird person. with one red eye
casts ordinary spells.

poisonous water salted as the air
disperses
drugs and white flour fogging daybreak
empty street except the lone man gazing at the frothy sun
shifting one frozen foot to

the other
my ghost, and winter, from ice cells spring
huddled grass, corner and await
the green van

Emily Brent

Nothing-(n) is not a void that needs healing but the calm that is a minimalist's space. Ex. After having eliminated all dresses, hair products, earrings and toys, the body is still.

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waiting for spring on an unusually spring-like day in December

living inside the world means noticing when the white van leaves and the brown one returns with the groceries to the backyard is full of brambles a rotting wood fence in farm country in the middle, a huge city. this is any--i hear gun shots.  go ice fishing, snow melts on the island i take my dogs to sniff squirrel tracks and muddy. the world is melting my world is

buckwheat flour ice crust
a glint of blue
December
a neighbor shouts, a bus turns, breaks whine, this thin tannic film coats my front tooth,
a grape skin for breakfast

tempts me to exacerbate the condition by sipping red wine. window turn gold
as brown van
parts plain and simple
deeper nothing?
the surface melts

good-bye white van! i'm alone with an interior voice,
dogs
I will you to turn right.
a weird person. with one red eye
casts ordinary spells.

poisonous water salted as the air
disperses
drugs and white flour fogging daybreak
empty street except the lone man gazing at the frothy sun
shifting one frozen foot to

the other
my ghost, and winter, from ice cells spring
huddled grass, corner and await
the green van

Emily Brent

Nothing-(n) is not a void that needs healing but the calm that is a minimalist's space. Ex. After having eliminated all dresses, hair products, earrings and toys, the body is still.

‹ Back

‹ Back