It Had Been Snowing
The world populated by people born without a mouth, and the accidental upward current of air taken by the gliders who dangle them over the salted roads in January. No matter how much you talk to your houseplants they will never talk back. What is it worth? If worth is to be energized, it must be given away. How old are you? Nineteen, I think. What’s your name? In France I am called Joan, in my village I am called Jeanneton. Will I be with you tonight in paradise? What were you promised? You are believed lost. If loss were constructed of the same Newtonian principals as the humming house. The featureless menace of grass. We all die in Buenos Aires when we must starve ourselves. The choir finally shows up, but it’s too late. Jay, I need to talk to you.
Anne & Me
At the sight of your child, you can swim more easily, Maniti baby.
Where is your Mum cow.
Deathbomb destroyer of sweet baby flesh
Points out a missing lyric here.
Cancerous tumors growing (sadly true).
For those who are serious about sound,
Do what Anne does and put the manatee at the center.
This has nothing to do with anything
You know. This is one of the enraged sections.
I want to feel you before they kill us, Mum.
They fucked us over, is one phrase that will come to light.
Brooke Ellsworth received her MFA in Poetry from The New School, where she currently teaches. She is the author of the forthcoming chapbook, Thrown (The New Megaphone 2014)—a (mis)translation of Ovid’s “Echo and Narcissus.” She has poems in or forthcoming in ILK, LOG, and Pinwheel.