Category: Uncategorized
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PSALM 6By Sam Bailey Into the end. Into a lot of songs. For the octave. A Psalm for David: Lord, please don’t arguein Your fury, and don’t, in Your craziness,light me up. Feel sorry for me, Lord. I aminfirm. Cure me, resetme, Lord, my bones have all been confused.And my breath’s been a…
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Night has many weird angles.I look out at the endless,embarrassing pointiness.Its peaks are paper mouthslicking blue bells in the bulbs.Meaning: light, a daffodil.All suffering is funnelled. Hold a cone up to your heaving life.Turn away your horse.Must I think of every little thing?Remember me like a mirror. — From Issue…
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It shorts the whitetteIf bricks of still wet raw earth with straw Even summer appears to part from the landscape The expression “my voice follows yours” refers to door to riverEach day flows fromThe humid inversion of history without perspectiveFalling toward something palpable that comes to tip the momentLike a bark of beesColor…
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Pulled from dark stars. Armoredluck, hot with breath. My first planet is a heartbeat; my secondis dimmer and of the dead. My attachment to the world is a knife floatingabove my forehead and it’s how I make my way. Dramatic taproot! I am my own rider and this knifepoints only…
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You dug the shit trench, I took two hydroxizines. Zach’s dad traded a case of water for a case of warm beerHe gave me one I took a sip for every Red Cross van that passed us bytheir drivers waving. We watched as the French Broad swelled then snappedwe watched our drug…
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The games I play with myself are questions or maybe answers A puppeteer comes up to only me He says, a little olfactory plot never hurt anybody I say, what say you about architectures of thinking? Every desire has a cousin, tangential and “blue” I know exactly how to tumble,…
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An elaborate tattoo depictinga home invasion. Shouldn’t memoriesbe enough? A third bicep presentsitself before vanishing into the rest ofthe body. Bricks of condemnation formabove a nipple. Snap your attentionto the ski masks, bedroom, and mantle.The words inscribed below have faded.Now they are impossible to decipher.At one time, it was “cover…
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Those who fear the sorcerer neighborsthrow fistfuls of salt into the firewhen ominous birds pass by. My graverobbing friendsfind golden coins in dreams.They wake to the lightning’s horsemanfalling among them and turning to flame. Midnight, Saint John’s Eve. The fig treesdress for the party.Echoes of animal criessunken for millennia in…
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maybe that’s what’s always Common, all knowledge of the ground out in the world where no one, greenly, sleeps In Cassville, Joplin, Eden, Oklahoma Lawrence, Kansas even, Greenly. Even were the levees brought to quays, all that’s common of the gourded wrist-strap ( shaves a better bridge. A bridge? Facets of…
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— Originally published in Rampage Party Issue 2 — Courtney Bush is a poet, filmmaker, and childcare worker from Mississippi. She is the author of Every Book Is About the Same Thing, I Love Information, A Movie and The Lamb With the Talking Scroll.
Poetry Nightly 