SIX POEMS by REED CLOVIS G.

SIX POEMS by REED CLOVIS G.

still life w/o clouds ,, or the math poem

still life without clouds i am inside
every elevator with you
i am inside / an always-checking box

as we ascend without moving i deduce that one
mattress on top of one other equals 48
miles of railroad track
and one hand in an otherwise empty
pocket equals four hours of rain and eight
months in goldens bridge equals one

beryl quart of still
life which i am swallowing when i notice the clouds go inside
the trains now

//

the passwords of the dead

They were underneath a green field a green ////////////// field about fifty
meters in size sand blows over it has been blowing the whole time
i can understand how some things just get abandoned decades neglected  
covered in ////////////// sand we’re talking about a field the size of two
rooms astonishing and left, as it were, for dead two green fields expand  
remarkable covered in sand there was a stone in the field but obviously
not just a stone yes similar to the size of that room over there dirt and
sand and years and years completely covering and when they were finally  
unearthed an additional field was discovered lying below the body in its
///////// precious emerald cave /////////////////////////////////////////////////////

//

the body poems

The window must be leaking or something i can hear it hissing
listen there wait. wait cut the lights in order to hear it better hear
it say “i feel only like the hole that’s cut through me the
delineating
body has gone

 

My lip split down the middle is Airport Road with the thing itself
on one side and Sharon Mews on the other. so many times that
year i took it at one hundred then one hundred fifteen but what
really emptied my mouth of blood was to switch the headlights
off. the car the lane the night alloyed suddenly evaporated into
the same cloud. then there was the time i peeled out, afterward,
on the wrong side of route 130. how glad i am not to drive alone
any more. (to present an obverse we may observe the fear i
harbor for automobile wreckage not only because it is a waste;
additionally because it is for a moment a monument; additionally
observe the fear of pills not working quickly enough of a bridge
not high enough my body being kept alive in a hospital a train
conductor with too-capable photoreceptor cells of a net of a
falter of my body keeping itself alive
 

Last night, after i was coerced into signing a form on which i
estimated the likelihood of strangers believing whether or not my
body structure might include a penis when i told them i was male
as part of some wider explanation, a scientific one i believe, in
my dream,

//

Three flashes:

Every time you wake
from sleep up falling
it seems abyss-bound
but something is
still flat beneath you and
has been all night it’s be
-cause your body parts
all decided to see
very quickly what it’d
be like just for a
second to be outside
of you thought they could
manage it before you
woke only the slimmest
glimpse to be
unattached what would that
be like they snuck
away no time at
a flash in a
flash in a flash

//

Leafs illustrated by sir william jackson hooker

 

without the layers of paint lying like wet leaves thick on top of each other i reckon my bedroom
would feel ⅛ in. less constricting -- besides they (the outer layers)
are “hooker’s green” (after william hooker who illustrated Paradisus Londonensis 1805-08
and used, in doing so, apparently, for the leafy parts at least,
/////////////// a great deal of horrid
/////// diluted duck-teal pigment)

only the ceiling spackled is solace -- additionally the floor splintering is relief --

i am shaking -- i am searching for all the big leaves -- in this way i am like a beetle
/////////////////// all alone at a party

auxilary-cord-to-device connection sound except it comes from my air mattresses
-- thick and flinching on top of each other like rubber clouds -- she fell
asleep before i could unstack them (the mattresses) and in this way i lie on the
floor, a wet leaf in a fitted sheet

at six o’clock a truck backed up for an hour -- metronome screaming
to which i listened peacefully as would any board-bound beetle until the morning
could be made ///// its own layer

//

inside the body is another body.

little did i know that 12 months of taking it followed by 1.2 months of not taking it followed by 2 weeks
of taking it

(in other words 4,392 days of not bleeding followed by 28 hours of slight, sickened, almost watery,
beheld as red unless otherwise specified hours of bleeding)

would result in me forgetting

how sweet i’d since stopped smelling


Reed Clovis G. is a poet from NJ / NY; their work has been described as “audible” and “the thumbs-up emoji.” Reed lives in Philadelphia and has appeared in fields magazine and small po[r]tions, among other unexpected places. Bask in their content at @3_leaf_clovis on instagram.

A POEM by CORTLAND BILLOW

A POEM by CORTLAND BILLOW

THE DINNER PARTY by NICK ROMEO

THE DINNER PARTY by NICK ROMEO