Books burning 3:39 a.m.
Chapter 6, Don Quixote.
Touch-me-nots
Wilting-in-progress.
Aspire à la Ashbery
Devote to the Impossible.
Darling, did you dry-
Clean my martini?
Proceed with caution:
Grief under repair.
R. Zamora Linmark’s new poetry collection is Pop Verite. He lives in Manila.
DOLORS MIQUEL
In the ravine the river roars / the rocks seem made of glass, / the snow swaddles it all, / icy hands on the reins. / In the ravine time demands / in a deep invisible voice / just one human life / to turn into flesh and be free. / Just one human life. // On the cliffs of my soul
ADRIENNE SU
I have come to my senses. / I believe in books, / but they have their place. / The flowers in them lack scent. / Books cannot feed you; / they are at their worst / when imitating romance, / not because they don’t / get it but because / they do: romance is mental.
WYATT TOWNLEY
Walking is falling forward. Running // is falling faster. Watch the dark. It falls / so slowly while the sun yanks the rug // out from under you. At night some fall over / a book into a story. Some fall // for each other. We have fallen all the way / here.
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