from “Getting Ready” by Jordan Stempleman
There’s a straight-looking man
in a public park, shaving in the water
fountain, so I make sense of the dogs
who do nothing all day but go along
with their aspirations. I fight against this huge old park
tree, deciding whether to be lax today, hold off for later
for say, enormously concerned.
from “Preface” by Evelyn Hampton
I wanted to write the white-tiled entrance to a building. Inside, someone would be waiting for me. I would speak urgently. With thin, glancing enhancements, I would become someone else.
Outside, a yellow flower would be showing. The back end of a car would also be visible.
A bit of red sauce would still be clinging to a yell.
Everything would have meaning in relation to itself. Everything would be a god (another yell).
from “Scatterstate” by Carrie Lorig
i do my knees for a long time, and i lush out hard. i launch out hard because it frails good. Like flows, like flower rodeos, i g r e w s o m e, i dark some, and grope myself into full glow. i chase glow into shapes. i chase shapes with barbwire rocks. i cut right into the earth. when i cut grass, i shed objects. the lawn has a moan thread that suits me, that burns me into such a clumsy body, that wobbles blotted me into lop hided blooms that drag a ripping sound behind them. the size of your names, what a strong plush into a living stream of the bizarre soft that is always flying me into buildings. my constant is my hands in the dusk mange. my hands write me with sway tongue, and my stomach gets sway, sway open.