Mary Kasimor

pigeon sound

i screamed and all my emptiness
fell out of me
the sound never ended
we never chased it away

lonely with left hands
under bridges 
reality spreads other diseases
we film the industries
choosing birthday cake for all
over and over 
russia and mexico foretelling

the words intermingling
i was once a stone

the first time i was pounded 
shaped into marble
i was only the surface 
sinking into the water

the cats were birthed into 12 lives 
you wanted a beginning 
i wanted an ending 

even when pigeons
flew over me 
i was camped in my head
i imagined life with fire

the night sky lengthened our way out
we drew ourselves in the dirt
as fallen laws made human the stories
of infected hair 
(poisoned tongues)



the counting of money becomes            a ritual
           like adjusting roses after they have died

                             i sit in my room painting 

and what I know is anxious 
it was clearly not my intent 
to live in the light with                  small droplets 
                                                               of death 
wrapped up in protective voices 
                                you sit next to us practicing 
                            you tell us we aren’t alone in the noise

the child speaks into mirrors 
i am there sinking into its shape

she has promised to                                       be good 
                                 but she does not qualify for goodness
                                      after the news became superman
it was an anxious ride to another place
after the eggs                                           collapsed 
tossed into burial plots 
                                       after one hand              in mourning


from china

the screamed departure of life
prolonging the patterns on the wall
in small smiles
i don’t look at the obvious
i want you to hide me
in our shadows
in our trembling     breaking glass
i slid myself between the layers of lies
i am vast and known for nothing
the details are dancing angels
at the point of leaving
it is the clothes that never fit
my exacting mistakes
i fall apart        my trembling
i broke apart         from china
the children frightened
i wove designs inside their faces
i filled them with my lifespan
once upon a time 
today empties your            skin
trading pleasure stitched us together
it was not a formula


black rain

owls contain molecules           night shudders
child in the air angles                  dangle details
embalming purple         dye ink spits tone dead
volcanoes amusing the sky
for a long drive 
limited shadows                    now trending 
but wolves never ate 
almonds                            far away from home
clouds starve in boxes 
chased into department stores
hats and coats                      stolen attention 
happy trails                           designed your face
pinched comfort                                   black rain 
walking into fossils
with meat family                     roots gathering 
toes wandering
graters survey                          touching novels 
voiced black                                            rain
city captures pouring                          vinegar 
rain waits daffodils 
next                                                   to crime 
raining                                     pours the wind

Mary Kasimor has been writing poetry for many years. Her poetry has been published in many journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit, Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVOX Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), and Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017). She has a new book out published by BlazeVOX Books 2019, entitled Drink Me and a chapbook published by above/ground press, entitled disrobing iris 2019. She has also been a reviewer of many small press poetry collections.
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