p
o
e
m
s

O capacious room,
give me your tongues.

I’m done with being self-
possessed. Take hold, turn

the river in me. I’m freed
up to be anybody else,

my molecules twinned
with the sound. O erotic ours,

pass me not. Keep me in
the pocket. O percussive

dissent, devotion is anything you say
go awry. In this early hour,

keep me recursive. The impulse is
to lose my feet. I’m yet overcome.

You seismic drop.
You sovereign fade.

O black chaos, I’m in study
at your center, turn me out.

Taylor Johnson writes poems in Washington, D.C.

You Might Also Enjoy

Brief Lives (IV)

Eliot Weinberger

Vanna of Orvieto
(Italy, d. 1306)
Her heart burned so intensely that she took off all her clothes to pray and still. . .

stories

Late Style

Brandon Kreitler

They pile the barley in stacks and the unspoken halves / are greater. The season is an ongoing industry now . . .

poems

Jemima Spits

Jabari Asim

Fool had ten thousand acres but needed my ass to make it complete. He rubbed me like a good luck charm and I poisoned his pancakes.

poems

Further Reading

Heads Up: We recently updated our privacy policy to clarify how and why we collect personal data. By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understand this policy.