fall preview: five lines from Lauren Camp’s “Measure”

Hope was sick in a chair beside me. My shadow was the exhibit, the hypotenuse

of desire and anger. What was in me – what ravage, pulp, what sticky

language? The piñon-scented public servant stood in the rough weather of our

kitchen as wind flared and spit, as I sat silent, knees locked together. In a

specialized study of trauma, there are no shortcuts.

Enter your comment here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Email (required) (Address never made public)

Name (required)

Website

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Remembering that time we gathered and published a collection of Worksongs for the Apocalypse. Thank you, everyone w… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 6 months ago
RT @splitlipthemag: Hey friends! If you can't afford the $10 entry fee for our poetry contest, we'll have 13 FREE ENTRIES available on our… 2 years ago
RT @katkadav: Such a great idea & opportunity from Sundress Pub twitter.com/SundressPub/st… 2 years ago
@Vanessid Just had this conversation with a colleague today. 2 years ago
RT @MaxDunbar1: The princess is in another castle: finally there is a Beckett video game (@3ammagazine) 3ammagazine.com/3am/beckett-vi… 2 years ago
@sslonewriter I would welcome this kind of reach-back from writers. 2 years ago
@akmiska Looks wonderful! 2 years ago
"How could the body be an accident? * Heat. You started to seek it. The urge is a missile." (love this essay) twitter.com/akmiska/status… 2 years ago
@mylesdoespoems the rustling reeds along the shoreline of every river I've loved, and that's all of them, feet and… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 2 years ago
@akmiska but the guy most likely said it way without the g 2 years ago