Mary Kasimor who has been writing poetry for many years, considers her work experimental. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017) Drink Me (BlazeVox Books 2019), and Disrobing Iris (above ground press 2019). Her poetry has been published in many journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit, Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths.
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1. soup sound laughter
scattering tr ue fiction. science
is differ rent (than) abstain ing
from. sex (left alone!). in grocery
bag s of canned so up sound.
laugh ter threads wear ing thin
so metimes. a villain’s mon o tone
som e times. fleeing (the scen e)
it w as worth ever y day.
it was a bes t seller
wit h midnight. set as ide
for spontan eously th inking
(i nside) itself. k nowing
nothing upro. ots
the pall. gree n tips
clim ate bed out of ((my)s.elf)
exa mining the f ac.t a sound
pollu tion. on t he sid.ewalks
(alone). dr owned from s .elf help
ever yone need s wa. ter.
i am. looking f or the wilderness
with my feet. in (y( our.) vo ice
in cycles i cre.ate you. arou sing
the morn. ing taking itsel f off.
(awa y) wa lking to t he last
r e flection. the aft erlife biting
through. your s kin. in thre ads
the g lare the mena cing silence
pres sing the button.’s gaff.e.
***
2. bleached light
i am figuring out how to
die. over here. a distance
of threads spun a chatter
developed. rapture. and texture
typing a novel. in an empty chair
fatigue wringing out fingertips.
the struggle researches blood
there lies a stained. finger
the skull awakens. to a repetition
bending time. rivers of plastic
and rust quiet. sky squaring
corners of balloons.
another frantic field explodes
chatters into chatter.
apples rot. day to day
a shadow. stilled by a shadow
brings blue. news
to the still sculpture. breathing
lost in a breast in bleached light
cancer thinks. thought impressions
push time onto horoscopes close
to brutal force the flat and muted baby.
3. a circle to explore
the queen of spades knit
all the spores on the ground
into one tragic cell
green (queen)
unbalancing the demands of vegetation
it was postpartum arriving
with small echoes
of life
the worm manipulated its form
plato made the birds fly
and then
another reason
to leave when the words
fade out
while going somewhere we never felt the future
vaguely blue screams an answer
feeding my hands to the garden
i never owned
my worth
i never
owned a circle to explore
the night plants the noise
(north)
our fears half opening roses
