Arms Long and Small


Cockspur, rosehip, did you

nibble my ilium? Didn’t

you purr? But I don’t remember

too much about you.

If I picture your lips I see blur.

I see dead pixel flurry,

starling murmuration of blank. 

That first or second night


we clung to your roof, let stars

confuse us. We couldn’t tell

trite from wrong. How’d it go again,

that song? Something some-

thing moon? June? tune? How easily

time uncouples rhymes. How soon.




Green Blue Carmine Songlet


Dear zero, grant me this day

concancellation, height to fall by:


seed me embryo of tongue, contrails,

a verdigris name. The frequencies


have lost their charm. I am stubborn

as a barnacle, sessile and stuck


to what can be deciphered and borne.

All greens green as and all blues.


Is as what’s cracked or is? I would like

to be a net without strands,


an arthropod fruit, cochineal sound.

The contradictions amend.


                       If I can’t be nothing,

                       I can portend.




American Dream (6)

[someone to drive the car]


Sometimes in America

which is a road, I see a red


car carrying two women

who have the same face.


The driver drives. Her child

or double sits next to her,


her face folded in universal

origami of pain, mouth


open. She is shouting

something, but I can’t hear


her. Can the driver? She

doesn’t look over. She


looks at the road. She

looks in the mirror. She looks


like she is holding her face

very carefully, as if it might


drop, shatter. She looks

like a woman who’s held


many things many

smashed things. She


looks like everybody,

I meant to say.




About the Author

Sam is a non-pseudonymous human with an MFA from UMass Boston & various other traits & appendages, chronicled in Google. His poem “i am michael derrick hudson” was featured in Rattle’s Poets Respond project. He lives & writes in Cambridge, Massachusetts.