When dead, lie shirtless
in a clearing whisper
your eulogy to your partner
until the blinking
blue God-
Gun reboots us just as
the sun comes up.
from Poetry Northwest 10.1 Summer & Fall 2015More by Nomi Stone from the library
Copyright © Nomi Stone
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.
Military Base, America
the fictional country stills
in the hour’s resin. Men glide
through the pinedark
into fields of cotton. Eyeless
seeds above: is it, lord,
snowing? They cross
into the mock village:
dome goat road row of
Iraqi role-players whispering
in collapsible houses made
for daily wreckage. Lights pulse,
pixels within them. In one room:
a tiny fake coffin no
isn’t here a body no, nowhere
here my body. Input say
a kind word to the villager output
villager soaked clean of prior forms
of place It is (subtract now
this footprint) snowing. Now
hush.
from Poetry Northwest 10.1 Summer & Fall 2015More by Nomi Stone from the library
Copyright © Nomi Stone
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.
