Three Poems by Jamie Townsend


—feeding a pointillist exercise—

At first light   the   body  spills   over its   banks,

multivalent     rays     of protein    pelting the skin

inversely      bud      &         shed      food products,

products   of  the  body      floating    before    sealed

eyelids         then     inhaled   as     the stomach and

lungs contract   in tandem


woke up disoriented, a choked trickle of water leeching

color from the soil, the cave studded with teeth, not mouth, the cave

of his imagined sister, her firelight projecting a small

beast of shadow         ,        after, he dreams outside her body

wading into deep stretches of alien sound

—systematic forgetting—

the wave of flame swelled, pushing against his ribs, bones

stripped to a gun metal, carriage routed by heat & in-

distinguishable vocals, curved air lifting distinct away

in exhaust and weak glow her voice ‘ a body is infinitely

divisible’ , rock melts, a pebble cracking after it cools, ‘ it speaks the

voiceless book’ in the street, the womb long-barren, he sees

something flutter, twisting solid through

a granular curtain


Jamie Townsend has poems and essays published or forthcoming in Bombay Gin, The Cultural Society, Gam, Fact-Simile, Wheelhouse, Volt, Elective Affinities, Flying Guillotine’s “Apocalypse Anthology” & Jacket/Jacket2. With Nicholas A. DeBoer, he edits con/crescent press, a poetry chapbook publisher & print magazine focused on discursive essay / creative non-fiction. He lives in E. Kensington, Philadelphia.

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