balaclavas wrap the bulletproof Humvee in evening ink.

bone script, prisoner flood, ghosts up to the knees & the flight
of all men charged to protect the city, uniforms shed like skin.
another beginning begs long off under shingles, a light

in the upper window. blink slow cartography, clear the map:
blackened Tigris, mountain ash, neighbours
turn to the tumult of ocean. the future has been levelled—

stillness paid in boxes, oriel windows & hospital deconstruction.
what will be worth fighting over. children rebuilt then again erased.
mannequins in the alley clothed in our garments. leaning

minaret splayed before dawn after eight centuries unobstructed
views of the river. present company a collection of life
less bodies. this is a version & yet also a lattice. Geoffrey Nilson is a writer, editor and multimedia artist living in New Westminster on the unceded territory of the Qayqayt and Musqueam First Nations. His poems and essays have appeared in Poetry is Dead, The Capilano Review, subTerrain, CV2, and other journals. He is the author of four chapbooks and the most recent, In my ear continuously like a stream, appeared recently from above/ground press. Find more on his website at www.vcovcfvca.com. Labels: Geoffrey Nilson, rob mclennan, Tuesday poem

Tuesday poem #255 : Emily Sanford : Dead | Lines

Deadlines are insinuated
tracks in winter snow and the forehead;
the phone on Sundays now.

The morning wash in October
and another year gone.
Lines left unwritten, like

blanking on stage—a look to cast
anywhere, a dropped cue,
missed class along the way.

Upon your upturned palm
which went unnoticed then—
power lines down and ominous.

A line thrown to submerged grasp
in desperation: A to B,
in time, or in memoriam.

A paragraph skipped
that time
was the distance between two points.

A pickup
on the horizon,
rivulet in rain—striation.

Patience as a virtue
is just a line— Labels: Emily Sanford, rob mclennan, Tuesday poem

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Tuesday poem #254 : Katie Fowley : CROWN the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan. Labels: Katie Fowley, rob mclennan, Tuesday poem

Tuesday, February 06, 2018

Are the windows open?
There are no buildings.
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