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VOICEMAIL POEMS
VOICEMAIL POEMSEpisodes
Episodes of VOICEMAIL POEMS
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as silent and holy as an empty church. a polished row of pews. you, moonin the sky, how do you do it? your one-handed gravityholding still the earth. astral magic trick, you newly christened old god. every family’s forgotten dance is a sc
remember bodies at night how they glow how they bend into us like refracted lightthe memory of where a body was after it has left its phosphorescenceyou cocoon into the spaces around thingsfind yourself in auburn eyes and h
yeah i’ve got a lighter. can fix your filter. give you honey stick secrets and light tight roll laughter when you call me blue dream like your favorite strain like your favorite character ramona you know the blue of your dreams? yeah they’re bo
In the palm of my hand I harborFault lines, one-way streets,A famous bridge half-crossed andAnother I steered from the passenger’s seatWhile the driver smoked weedSuch honking dreams in the patchouli, Of frolicking unhindered, ofSlapping
A man in a powder blue suitoffered to tell me my futureon Olive Avenue. When I tried to say no, he said Baby, please,in a way that told me that he might know something thatI didn’t, so I held out my palm.I used to hold out the same palm
I stay in bed til 2 then get up and open all the windows. Make coffee and walk aroundthe 5 x 10 space I call my living room. Turn my attention to the postcardsand photographs on the fridge. Stare hard at all that evidence. Whisper: See,
I.I fall in love every time I fly.Leaving Dallas: the medical student wearing headphones and a full headscarf just to forget her be-planed predicament.Above Tucson: the sorority sister with the strawberry hair whose father is waitin
When are you going to move closer?The space aches between us.It invents its own language.The jagged edge of the ocean paints the sand dark,retreats into its own swollen urge, arcs forward to tease the shore with the inexorableinevitab
Sons blushed and became soft peaches in the hot backseats of cars, never even wanted the front seat. Or, I was the son, but it’s niceto be plural and grand and count the dandelions in right field as friends, which I picked in the ancient way
When you’re out in the sticks - the woods are a fortress - sunlight stabs down at you in bright daggers - I bet no one told you how a canopy is like armor.I had a place in the woods where rules couldn’t touch me - little warrior boy with sti
I feel as if I should tell youThat I have never yet, seen -A Beaver in the Wild/but have, for sure seen plenty things:-Too many a shrub and quail, -Elk drunk at the Waterfall, -Horses arrogant in the sun-So many a video of Fruit Bats gna
1. Trigger happy target 2. Archangel of the burnt and bruised 3. Newport ash on a papi store floor4. Pants way passed where his mama taught 5. It’s my car sir6. Ocean front scalp 7. Jesus in hiding 8. Unintentional vaudeville show
Sometimes I wish I could stop you from talking when I hear the silly things you sayAlison, I know this world is killing youOh Alison, my aim is true- Elvis Costello, “Alison” I was named for a catcall strung out into thre
A few years ago a machine peaked into my head and found a section dead.Most likely from a lack of oxygen in utero, but really, that’s speculation – what’s done is doneand there’s no undoing it. Like when I was eighteen andsomeone pilfered
For Owen Steinmann (2016-2017)Sugars trickle from maples’ taut trunks, sappingsummer energy, the crystallized light of wanting to stay alive. But what melody the drops make a manfrom a pulpit always says as they leap out the spout, percus
I finally want to talk about ithas taken me a decade more than most and all my wisdom teeth have fallen victim by now there is a draft buried beneath
…july.wilted cereal in a bowl / wedrown in brown boiling milk. the haze of sparklers and fire- works add to the deafening heat that drips intoaugust.caged in by smog,air smells of cigarettes and melted tar. surely this place is meant
The eyes have it: weight, such that they can’t even roll.This is one of those moments when I should probably listento my body but you know how it goes when someone talks too much for your taste (coffee, sir?). There’s lots of work to do tod
brilliant elixer fuck me upfuck me deadwhy doesacademia hate me i’m ready tosacrifice my bodyto a careersomething boring liketeaching teenagerswhy romeo and juliet did ordidn’t die make mygrandparents proudof me againi pour th
I was on my back that morningstanding still & runninghalf-turned, fetal &spread eagle & curled up along the edgeof the hospital bedand the doctor says“It’s time,” & I already know becauseit has always beentime, time to push & sheis
Our hosts Logen Cure and I.S. Jones review their favs from our Winter 2018 issue!(Get caught up on Winter 2018 here: soundcloud.com/voicemailpoems/sets/voicemail-poems-fall-2017)This installment features poems by:Kirwyn Sutherlandhttps:/
Another storm has the neighbors' chickensall lumped together and subdued, soI can't hear them from my attic room.Rain has thrown itselffor days against the roof."What is the cruelest month?" people ask.Last year I watched a manput one
End of the year gray. AnchorsWhere balloons should be, or: Could peace wait on the outerBank of sane. How in the holidayBuzz to say nothing for clear, that is:Give me back remembering,Its attendant costumed sting. The portraiture made
i.In the other world, everything smells like cherries.Every phone call is the news of someone's death,and every cigarette is candy. In the other world, you tell me you do not love me every day, and ourbed is made from cedar trees. The hors
Part 1: UntitledIt was yesterday or something, when I heard the song playing in a store, askingdo I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet?I don't sing it to myself, exactly, but I do repeat it, metallic gyre, all the day long. In
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