Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Tuesday poem #285 : Sommer Browning : I Thought it was Sunday

I smoke so rarely now
That when I light one
I feel like I’m letting Paul
Put his hand down my pants
On the train tracks.

The long corridor my house
Makes when I come home
A word
That rhymes with known.

The hammered man
Holding the trashed woman
Inarticulating love.

        Walking through a gas leak—

Into on coming traffic

I wake up sobbing
As if I were married

So fat I was skinny I was fat.

Your dick friend
Calling your other dick friend
A dick:

a Beat poem
if the Beats were men.

Sommer Browning writes poems, draws comics, and says jokes in Denver. She is the author of Everything But Sex (Low Frequency Press, 2017), You’re On My Period (Counterpath, 2016), Backup Singers (Birds, LLC; 2014), and other things. With Elisa Gabbert and Brian Foley, she curates Death Horse, a monthly reading series. In 2017 she opened GEORGIA, a popup art space in her garage. She is a librarian.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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