Gloom Cupboard Poetry #124 brings to you the voices of new and established poetry writers. This issue features the work of Saberi Roy, T.M. De Vos, Lyn Lifshin, David M. Morton, William Merricle, Tyler Bigney, Debrenee D. Adkisson, Jan Darrow, Meghan K. Barnes, and Ian C. Smith. Do enjoy.
by Saberi Roy
Stretched body wide, the armchair reclined and between the creases
Time passes like slumber. To the north when naked silhouette fed
Agonies and wetness reached a degree of imperfection.
Whispers that reached my ears could have been more than what was said
and the eyes have seen more than what could be seen. Clothed in
full, bodies have danced in the dark yet I see them
naked and vulnerable, hurt and torn, as meanings
derive from raw shapes and endlessness of primordial necessities.
Bio: Saberi Roy’s poetry has appeared in Carcinogenic Poetry, Psychopoetica, and First Science among others.
by T.M. De Vos
The only interesting events
take place between those
who need no light to find each other,
whose eyes are accustomed, already,
to the dim, in spaces that are always bare,
suits tacked and square, socks put away.
Desks are somewhere, idling,
sound evaporating from them like pianos.
You wake, head to toe with others,
hair soft and stiff
as a taxidermied animal’s.
the bodies do not separate
like a handful of batter being grabbed.
He is known for being kind.
He brings you water when he questions you,
the clear column
blameless and vertical in his hand
as your life is not.
The others know the instrument
he applies to you
like a carpenter planing a board.
What is love, finally,
but rubbing at a thing enough
for its nerves to tell it you are there?
A bag of laundry tumbled in your scent
might be as good.
Think of how they cut and hang a dog
to punish it for who has laid out a bowl
often enough for it to return,
how they string it across the porch
of the one who is too dark,
or has loved the wrong person:
Look at this soft thing you fed, all guts now.
He has no choice;
he is very sorry.
He adjusts to your darkness,
blank and black as a cave,
and your organs inch forward in schools.
Bio: T. M. De Vos received an MFA in 2004 from New York University and a Hopwood Award in 1999 from the University of Michigan. Her work has appeared most recently in HOBART, Dossier Journal, Bosphorus Art Project Quarterly, Tidal Basin Review, Sakura Review, The Whistling Fire, Shady Side Review, Umbrella Factory Magazine, and the Los Angeles Review. She is a staff member of Many Mountains Moving and a contributor to Fiction Writers Review.
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