Asiya Wadud
makes for me marrow or an inside filament
figment or sepulcher sculpture monument or inside cave


slips of windowpanes—yawning at the seams
                or permanent fixture green lathe or marrow or nested

            an interior door ajar though mesh so more sieve than door nest of open win-
                  dows does the mesh make



                            a structured or strident city grid meets girth meets exurb
                            the monument makes for me a relic or fixture a fixture then plaque
                            gilded and scapula, evergreen aseptic gaps could the flowers make




my mange makes for me a dinner, softened inside any gilded mouth
            mostly cavity or crown
            bridge or gully
            a monument to marrow and what runs inside it, oxygen to further a future


                                                                                                        stove top or otherwise
                                                                                                            step inside or at the hem


            my manager gathers the marriage of order of alliums and almost and
                  soft cells and tender and tender and strident the window



my mind makes for me marrow or filigree
the intricacies delivered by the minute
the marrow creates and feeds a steady stream
both a summer and a selfless season

silent or apparition or the noise could speak


all brackish and woven
warp weft and still life
each a degree of the aperture

my mind makes for me a thin, tame vine
settling into its tangled rope
woven up inside the cavernous glass tubes
climbing up the facade
then inside through a pitched roof window
what work
what worth




                                            my mind makes for me a window,
                                                    brushstroke, or way out
                                            scraping back gold filament
                                            door or otherwise a fixture or otherwise filmed futures
from the book MANDIBLE WISHBONE SOLVENT / University of Chicago Press
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Black-and-white close-up of Tomas Salamun
"Brian Henry on Slovenian Poet Tomaž Šalamun"

"Šalamun recalled that his 'first five poems came in half an hour, and felt like stones falling from the sky.' After he had written just twenty poems, he was elected editor of the subversive literary journal Perspektive, which, along with his poem 'Duma 1964,' led to his arrest. He was told that he’d spend twelve years in prison, but due to international pressure, was released from prison after only five days."

via LITHUB
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Cover image of Lisa Duncan's book, Given
What Sparks Poetry:
Liza Katz Duncan on "The Uncles" 


"'The Uncles' are not actual people but attempts to personalize the tragedy of Superstorm Sandy through memories, anecdotes I had heard from neighbors and read in the news, bits of conversation, and places and images that continue to haunt me to this day. I chose the sestina’s six ending words to drive home exactly what was being lost, and what we continue to lose, both concrete (bay, fence, birds) and abstract (home, ways of knowing)."
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