#DisabledPoets

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Tory Dent: Black Milk (2005, Sheep Meadow Press) No rating

us by Tory Dent

in your arms it was incredibly often enough to be in your arms careful as we had to be at times about the I.V. catheter in my hand, or my wrist or my forearm which we placed, consciously, like a Gamboni vase, the center of attention, placed, frail identity as if our someday-newborn on your chest — to be secluded, washed over in your arms often enough, it was in that stillness, the only stillness amidst the fears which wildly collided and the complexities of the illness, all the work we had yet to do, had just done, the hope, ridiculous amounts of it we had to pump from nothing, really, short-lived consensus possibility & experiment to access from our pinched and tiny minds just the idea of hope make it from scratch, air and water like manufactured snow a colossal fatigue the severe concentration of that, the repetition of that lifted for a moment just above your arms inevitable, pressuring it weighed down but remained above like a cathedral ceiling, strangely sheltering while I held tightly while there I could in your arms only there, the only stillness remember the will, allow the pull, tow against inevitable ebb — you don't need reasons to live one reason, blinking in the fog, organically sweet in muddy dark incredibly often enough it is, it was in your arms

Black Milk by  (Page 106 - 107)

Jason Irwin: A Blister of Stars (Low Ghost Press) No rating

Reborn by Jason Irwin

A man in a green mask asks me to count backwards from one hundred. At ninety-eight the table begins to spin, and I am swallowed by the light that hangs above me like giant insect eyes.

I can mark time by the surgeries; the way my grandmother marked my growth with pencil slashes on her kitchen door frame.

Each time I awoke from that abyss – my mouth a desert; my eyes two stones sunk in my skull – some small part of me had died; some small part was reborn.

A Blister of Stars by  (Page 25)