Pismire

New Website

2010-09-08T23:00:00.001-04:00

Pismire has a new website. Please visit www.pismirepoetry.org for all future issues.

"Rowboat Over the Atlantic" by Amish Trivedi

2010-07-31T22:00:00.001-04:00

I have become
my own airbags, admitting
I’m more willing to break
than be broken. These words are
not mine
anymore, but they are a revenge
lay. And I used to sit
outside, slumped over feeling
boxed or stigmata over the
soil. Steps line one side, a
jar. Rain and saliva become
the next tabloids.

"Home" by Megan Turner

2010-07-04T11:09:00.002-04:00

Across the room,
their skin was touching mine.
Them.
With their steel carriages.
With their goddamn its.
With their children
breathing air
that was not mine.

There are fears of thank you,
of the bagger who smiles.

I keep feeling for my hair,
keep looking through those aisles
of blonde tubing.

***

Everything in the same place.
Here, the carpet. The table.
The box.
At night, the smell of my sheets
won’t let me sleep. I can’t
remember
the way I used to turn my pillow.

"A Photograph of Myself" by Seth Landman

2010-04-29T12:10:00.000-04:00

In its vicinity
I was remarkable
more than I was
symmetrical

I was conducted
in language
permitted to pass
imaginary pollution

I seemed imaginary
most days I had
no vestige of a beard
remarkable wrinkles

I was completely
overlapping with myself
the idea was
by any means

to detach from
a commotion
that I could not
answer to quiet

those emotions
I could not calm
I thought
I heard myself

growing louder
in alarm there were
radiating lines
around me growing

nearer gradually
I heard the sleep
alarm in the midst
of a dream I was

covered in blood
and carried into
a temple I was
wiping away I guess

time was getting
so long I seized
upon myself feeling
nothing but the feeling

of my skull
the whole face
giving room and air
removing the head

which now lay
before me
like a mountain
my guide paused

we did not know
where we were
my first impulse
was to rise

I had to rally
I had just ascended
to look behind
for my enemies

but they were afraid
and my body saw
my body and I saw that was
sufficient to provoke them

"The Turtle and the Hammer" by Phillip Thompson

2010-04-15T16:57:00.001-04:00

To the turtle’s head. We
cinched a string around. In
Anatomy and Physiology lab. And
pounded with a hammer. Until
it gave us knowledge. Of
the heart’s chambers. A
turtle that snorted. Life
through nostrils I can. Tell
you now as you sink. To
the bottom of a bottomless. Bayou
I understand how. The
body works.

"What do sentences do?" by Ari Feld

2010-03-25T22:39:00.004-04:00

So although meat happens, when does it happen?
Have you ever tried to reassemble a cow?
Do you want stronger frogs?
Did that girl just say, sucks dick?
Okay, if you weren’t so tired, what could we play?
Could we play whatever she says?
No, look, I’m asking a question?
I’m involved?
Can you repeat the question?
The project I’m working on involves capturing more bighorn sheep,
okay?
Well then, what’s a bawdy politics?
When you discover yourself, let’s get undressed about it?
It’s okay, I’ve done this before?
This is what you do?

"Four Fingers as Sinister Lover" by Kyle McCord

2010-03-23T21:07:00.005-04:00

Four fingers barks into my box of bones.
My bones (brittle) are a chorus to which
he’d replied, “Wind sings its circular time.”

Or sex. We sit in a room and suck
each other’s tongues. It’s not love.
It’s arsenic. It’s oil licking oil, licking light,

begging arson bear its action upon the body.
Hot and horny for treason, is four fingers.
Fallow as her old blood became,

he wilts before her will, hungry in her
arms. “Why, monshere, measure
out our weaknesses drip by drop?”

For four fingers think often of my crotch
with its unseen events, its untidy theater,
its comings & goings, its doing & undoings.

“Who are you to lay so royal?” mocks four fingers.
“For that matter, who are you to ascribe my epoch?”
for four fingers are four springs,

drawing salmon out of sky,
rust out of rustic season,
my heart from the gloam of well.