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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Active Entries
- 1: My old body that you buried with the mud and the timber
- 2: I might fail math if you don't move your shoulder
- 3: With life and so much loss, time has weighted us
- 4: Out in space, coast to coast
- 5: Like a sprig of yarrow caught in the dark
- 6: The moon still rises on everybody else
- 7: To the green field by the sea
- 8: Eating cereal, remembering the sky
- 9: We'll tell you of a blossom and of buds on every tree
- 10: Am I lost inside my mind?
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