Sam Rasnake - USA-- She tattoos my words with her private grace—: Mermaid. Dancer. A bee’s sting, the one obsession she won’t let go of. I listen for her in everything I say. The mermaid, the dancer, the bee’s sting make me forget when I need a forgetting. I listen for her in everything I say. When I speak, she fills my mouth, makes me forget when I need a forgetting. She puts her breast to my ear and whispers her blood. When I speak, she fills my mouth and the taste is always a beginning. She puts her breast to my ear and whispers her blood. She’s my pen, and I am her paper. Her stories are one story, and the taste is always a beginning: “Once, she lay down beside me and made me stop dreaming” She’s my pen. I am her paper. Her stories are one story—: the one obsession she won’t let go of. Once, she lay down beside me and made me stop dreaming. She tattoos my words with her private grace. |
| Sam Rasnake’s poetry has appeared in
journals such as Literal
Latté,
Portland Review, Snow Monkey, One Trick Pony, nycBigCityLit,
Three Candles, and Poem.
He is the author of one chapbook, Religions of the Blood (Pudding House) and one collection, Necessary Motions (Sow’s Ear Press). He edits Blue Fifth Review: |