Tuesday poem #261 : Matthew Johnstone : Dear Trud,

What slows to omen / to you, a series of palms losing them hand,

repeating in / split avocados, slow relation to now. You are reminded

to are, and this remind / on you, locked in pools, made how turning

a thing to keep it sometimes / fell to mud, collected into lake any

speaking, near windless, the body is in a body of water / unfolding

itself. We hook in rest, cold stations / curled moveable sea, the sun

vertical in your mouth. It was warm where you were half this / earth,

visible also where in cease, as nothing, were in unison / forward of

inertia, proving it figment, still / as fed stars.

Matthew Johnstone is author of the collection Let’s be close  Rope to mast you, Old light (Blue & Yellow Dog, 2010), and the chapbooks o n e (Inpatient Press, 2015), Note on Tundra (DoubleCross Press, 2016), Eater, of mouths (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2017) and ( kiln ) (above/ground press, 2017). He co-edits 'Pider (pidermag.com) and hosts the E t A l. Poetry Readings, both of Nashville, Tennessee.

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan