grimoire of small curses                                                                                  —Jamison Crabtree


may every song that tastes of ruin turn to beauty in another's ear

may your only home be in the hearts of others

may all your loves be endless
 


lips, like rain


is everything

starlight on

the river

water in

the lungs
 

the earth tends to get between things


the moon and the sun, for instance

the larkspur and the hellebore or
between the city and someone's soft bones

have you felt that way? 

a swarm of lonelinesses
scurrying across your chest

you tell me
there's no proof that anyone else feels
while        the kitten
makes biscuits in your lap       while i cry
near the open window

i don't care anymore
everyone feels more
profoundly than i can
imagine       i imagine

the world, its large wet body, feels
more than it could       ever express

look at the ocean,         the land
the slow sex of the waves
licking the shores, licking       at themselves

maybe everything feels

but for you, but for me

 
Jamison Crabtree

Jamison Crabtree is, somewhere. His recent work appears in The Boiler, Cartridge Lit, Fence, White Stag Review, and Witch Craft. rel[am]ent, his book of poems about movie monsters, was awarded the Word Works' Washington Prize.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2016