Summer 2023 | Poetry
Steven Karl
Five Poems
Poem Written After Reading Schuyler
everything was coming
as I was going
yet residue rinsed
ripe upon rock
tide clock sand
shift carcass our
bodies become bodiless
green felt becoming
tree stains spreading
lungs lunging notes
a life admittance
of lows &
lusts listen snow
not silent but
an elastic mind
misting mysterious music
bass falsetto bell
belling together littlest
of weather dawn
purple/grey careless
voices gauzing guitars
then acoustic leaves
tired branches the
dominant chords becoming
ambient spaces after
footfall feeling winter
sun the walk
where neither I
nor you did
talk but still
to move thru
space side by
side to remain
a memory for
at least one
is enough to
unthread yellow thread
hanging from sweater
once snowflakes so
large your foot
went splash in
puddle big enough
to require paddle
sneakers out of
season green streaks
upon brown dirt
what happened last
the beach or
this city gulls
misting a distance
a mind place
undecipherable how it
is when muscle
memory triggers careless
this voice not
ours— color spilling
drum bass pushing
the mid-tempo field
meandering nightscape one
beverage then another
into purpled-grey dawn
light steady subsided
of internal drum
thing this machine
of body blood
movement thick bass
false bells barking
help my head
this head must
be going empty
ruin ruining ruined
later burst &
how we &
later how we—
sand worms its
way into everything
even knee backs
sun-burnt summer
how fast the
mind moves from
one territory of
light like another
of shadow &
etchings erasures &
back into the
sunpainted again with
you again into
the no poppies
season defunct hours
colorless ice drippings
snowdrops first song
snow blurring minor
pictures becoming menace
muzak background mimicking
lives amount to
together littlest of
weather abstractions are
patterns silence wind
devour skyscrapers between
city parks sometimes
something seems off
still how many
nights of nonsense
I & you
shoulder knocking shoulder
later under sheets
snow drifting down
in sheets the silence
your snow &
show & your
in & out
breath how many
nights away missed
better with unheard
ears as an
elastic mind where
everything stretches nothing
sticks of humanity
I loved it
all but mostly
just you—
an encore starless
& dim &
listen it’s about
to begin again
Let the Ghosts Good & Malicious Move Through
for Matt Henriksen
a memory/ of a movie where a man/ has a secret a secret about/ so this man towards/ the end of his cinematic/ narrative that is/ towards the end of/ the film tinged in/ mostly seeping colors of/ greens & reds & rain/ raining on food stands &/ dirty concrete buildings/ so here he is on/ an island &/ he finds a/ tree with a/ hole &/ the tree/ is sacred &/ the sky/ is sacred &/ the hole is/ sacred or those are/ things for another poem/ the tree was just a tree/but the tree was/ also opportunity so/ into the hole he/ whispered his secret/ into the hole he/ relieved himself of/ his secret— a seedling/ to grow or die/ of its own/ volition so he/ sealed the hole &/ steps off screen/
off screen the tree lives/ for a long time off screen/ the tree lives/ for a long time &/ then the land is/ deemed better repurposed/ for condos for hotels/ for skyscrapers the tree is/ chopped the tree is/ destroyed the tree is/ the secret &/ the secret has become/ the tree only now/ the tree has been/ repurposed into/ paper &/ the secret spreads across/ so many sheets &/ as I type this my/ secrets & his secrets become/ the world’s secrets they/ become their own/ field of flowers they/ become their own/ bright stars each letter/ studded across page/ feel the imprint of/ letters feel their faint/ burn feel my desperation/ to romanticize the histories/ of our failures in/ an azure sky of possibilities/ some secrets birthed/ monsters some secrets birthed/ pain some secrets became land’s lacerations—
from Because the Terror
*
because our parents were the terror because the president is the terror because
citizens are not citizens because we the terror we the promise of fear of its
engaging approach because the blood welcoming the subject in its experimental form
because our parents were the terror because the president is the terror because
citizens are not citizens because we the terror because the lived life of abstractions
because reckoning felt like mantra because terror gave them—
we the promise of fear of its engaging approach because the blood welcoming
because the sun blazed azalea fits of excitement the welcome of blood the age of
terror because we wanted the terror to stop because we—
*
the subject in its experimental form because on bended knee I confess to the yellow
cardinal— a rarity to the mind’s imagination because I confess to the dying elms—
a disease blown in from some far away country because on bended knee I confess
because on bended knee I confess to the yellow cardinal—to the foxgloves & field
of spreading bluets because I confess to having complicated feelings— a slow terror
on the precipice of a steep incline but on bended knee
what is it to confess—
to the foxgloves & field of spreading bluets what is it to confess to look the terror
to acknowledge error to beg for forgiveness while the forest burns while rivers
continue to contaminate while kids petition & protest against pollution
what is it to confess to look the terror to acknowledge error what is it to confess & the leave
the body nearly lifeless to beg for some holy lifeforce to resurrect a dying planet full of citizens groomed
in terror raised in violence rife with disease & fear
*
because our parents were the terror because the president is the terror because citizens are not citizens
because we the terror University Alert! Campus Alert: A dangerous situation is occurring on or near campus!
Evacuate the area NOW! possible gunshots on campus
because citizens are not citizens because we the terror terrorize with death’s glare & malice &
bully with guns guns all day we bully brave we cower we tremble we run we evacuate
we attempt to save ourselves from ourselves not ourselves is/is not mirror fracture HELP
we the promise of fear of its engaging approach because the blood welcoming utter terror to confess
I did not want to live but I did want to survive university alert dangerous situation to confess to the
terror of each other to run from each other the president the terror the congress the terror the NRA
the subject in its experimental form because on bended knee I confess to the oblivious robin in
the tree the terror of police sirens the brute display of violence the muscle of death erotic rush of
power I confess I am celibate I lust not your anger your malice your affair of the cemetery
because on bended knee I confess to the yellow cardinal—let me survive all alerts of imminent doom
because after the all-clear I could not calm down because I could not quell the tremble because even at
home because at home the email welcomed the terror because the taste of terror is terrible I rinse my
mouth in the metallic aftertaste the terror continues
*
because this was a typical day a typical response the utterance of normal in the sudden sun
sloven slattern light on bended knee I mourned for the days I wanted to die days when it felt
I could not rise hidden in the darkness hatred’s violence
the verb resume because I could not resume normalcy because I was haunted by a noose my
friend tried to hang from because I was haunted by the girl who threw herself in front of
the train because the terror was everywhere all-consuming invading daymares sweating pores
the verb resume because I could not resume normalcy because I was haunted by a story told
by either Elizabeth or Juliana about a former apartment in Tokyo that had an interior garden
that each apartment overlooked & to look down & see a body thrown from above
because I was haunted by a story of someone’s suicide & how the narrative alone broke our hearts &
how the societal burden weights some of else to the point where the terror is relentless where the
bodies keep killing themselves & ourselves & each terror feels infinite in its heavy sadness
how the narrative alone broke because this is normalcy this is what I reject because there was no
suspect other than ourselves our culture of terror power’s quest for tyranny empty rhetoric on a sunny
day while poison gas seeps into air icebergs melt animals mourning their extinction
because I suspect we rush to forget our role in all this constant death we rush to forget the terror we
bring to all living things we rush to forget how we destroy all around us including ourselves we rush
to forget that each footstep is a crushing blow to a blade of grass a rip in empathy’s armor as if
as if enough people ever wanted empathy’s armor anyway I confess most care not devil or god a name
is just a stupid name give me the intoxication of power pure & plain enough of this poetry sloven
sun terrible terror light breaking thru branches
empathy’s armor anyway is yesterday’s band name today is destroyer of the world today is the
reign in terror that was the 80s that is still today high alert return to normalcy is to return to suspicious
activity to high alert to flee the campus flee the earth the flames the flames the terror of everything
Terror Face
be yo oc th
ca u ca e
us c si po
e a on em
a n al i
t no l s
a lo o a
ce ng v v
rt er e i
ai lo on o
n ve e l
a a l e
g n i n
e ab v c
i us e e
mi er s
ss b in
my e me
mo c mo
th a ry
er u be
b s ca
u e us
t it e
be s i
ca co s
us mp a
e li y
a ca i
t te ch
a d oo
ce be se
rt ca lo
ai us ve
n e bu
ag th t
e er t
th e h
ey wa e
sa s n
y
Terror Face
b o b t
e n e h
c e c e
a l a p
u i u o
s v s e
e e e m
t s i i
h i s s
e n a a
r t y v
e h i i
w a c o
a t h l
s m o e
t e o n
h m s c
e o e e
o r l
c y o
v
c e
a b
s u
i t
o t
n h
a e
l n
l
o
v
e
Terror Face
s h u h
c i n o
r s i w
i t v t
p o e o
t r r p
e y s u
d t a l
e h l l
x r p s
p o a h
e w r e
c s t f
t i i r
a t c o
t s i m
i e p m
o m a y
n p t r
s t i i
o y o a
f o n d
t u i s
h t n o
e t l f
m h a h
o e n e
m w g
e i u
n n a
t d g
o e
w
Steven Karl is the author of two collections of poetry, most recently Sister (Noemi Press, 2016) and several chapbooks including If Your Lungs Are Skyed Make the Scar Song Echo Until All the Winged Things Bleed Your Poetry (Bloof Books, 2023). From 2010-2020 he served as the Editor-in-chief for the online poetry journal Sink Review. Originally from Philadelphia, he divides his time between Boston and Tokyo.