The afternoon's mail brought my contributor's copy of Not One of Us #86, containing my poem "Northern Comfort." I wrote it out of my discoveries of the ghost-ground that has been directly underfoot all my life and longer, from King Philip's War to Pomp's Wall, and this administration and its murderous terror of history. It shares a page and an issue of emptiness with a precisely targeted incantation by Gwynne Garfinkle as well the equally hollowing fiction and poetry of Kris Schokrowsky, Penny Durham, Carsten Cheung, Jennifer Crow, and more. I almost referred to the covert art by John and Flo Stanton, obscured by shattered webs of negative space or the rust-light of abandoned industries. Subscribe! Contribute! Make the right kind of strangeness in this world. I am off to South Station to collect one north-traveling seal.
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Page Summary
Active Entries
- 1: Make me a wreck as I come back and spare me as I'm going
- 2: Did you see the closing window? Did you hear the slamming door?
- 3: Keeping time on the kingfisher's climb
- 4: Because brick-braided alleys make steep, sleeping valleys seem level and clear
- 5: Don't look round, but I think we're taking off
- 6: Sing the praise of Alexander, he's no use to me
- 7: The hedges and fields are clothed all around with several sorts of green
- 8: Chinatown, London Underground, you know it all sounds good to me
- 9: Take us roaming in the gloaming, your Ross rifle by your side
- 10: I'm singing out this poem all the way back home
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