by

Jamie Bradley


 
Available at above/ground press.


 
Book Review for Happens Is The Sun:

Subterranean Blue Poetry

Volume III Issue IV




*

I tried to make my love letters black
as dry salvia. No match.

The field mouse is philosophic:
awkward boys piss euphemistic into holes.

Do not swim here.
The power plant churn, the green light.

Your thighs so pale my beard
stakes foolish claims.

You can't really throw a knife.
Go on, try.

Her shoes said, love me
like a broken animal.

The river is red with clay
& white at its swinging lap.

In a Cuernavaca market, the flesh hangs
everywhere: pig flesh, wood flesh.

Sadly, there are few old houses
that sit, affordable.

All the photos in a doctor's office
say, learn to be a better patient.




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