Fragment Wednesdays Compilation


 

Each Wednesday (okay, the occasional Thursday, I’m human) I post some piece of unpublished writing from my notes on my fb poet page.  Here’s a compilation of everything so far.  Like the page and come join in the mystery scramble!  Also, there’s updates on upcoming readings and other related poemstuffs.  You will not be inundated, scouts honor. https://www.facebook.com/Adam-Grabowski-Poetry-1586684371599990/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

The first “Fragment Wednesdays” post appeared on Feb. 24 2016.

“These past weeks we’ve dreamed of a crying
we cannot locate, your neonate skull pealed back
and eyes pulled out from behind,
replaced with sirens.”
———-my old hospital notes

“you evolve, I want to hide in your drawer til you understand, to eat you, to slide each petal over my lip, let me lose you and let me find you, let me become a tiny god, petal after petal
folding in, like it protects a tiny god, which it does”
———–Nomenclature notes

“Somewhere there is water for you,
anesthetized and submerged
and warm like your first home.”
————-Bay State NICU notes, 2008

“…up here the wind rips violently
at my pant cuffs, I am a flag run up
and bound too tightly to its mast.”
——notes from “the Postcard Project”

“Andy walked into the room looking out of focus. Threw his cup away and went over to Alison’s bed, took her hand. She had asked Andy to go for her because she knew that seeing this thing, this child that had materialized in and then escaped out of her body in a few freakish hours needed to be seen by someone, but it couldn’t be her. Still Alison needed to know the experience, needed to know if it had bat wings or an elemental glow or something; would it bite at her wrist? Would she even be able to tell which one it was, so removed from that side of the road?  Alison needed facts.  She imagined the dull pulse of a NICU and her stomach, her heart was want for a minute. Would she want to go?  Maybe just to place it in the State’s hands the way some fucker, some crazy fucking all powerful life terrorist, had placed it in hers first. Is it over? Is it over?

Andy, feeling sallow chested and bereft after a lifetime of deduction, “Alison…you just have to go up there.”

———————from the unpublished novel, There Are Complications

“…the local bookstores feed me catechism, but Barnes & Noble
is the cathedral that let’s me pray, so I search the hymnals to pull out words for her. I want to tell her that last night she didn’t plunge into me, but rather waded in and let go of the rope…”
——–notes, Spring 2015

(tbt edition)
“I watched her lazily pull a million loose pins out of her hair and then it all fell–dark and red down her shoulders…
the smell of her shampoo came at me like a wave, that general
feminine shampoo smell we’d all secretly fight and die for…”
————–notes, 2001

“That I would bewilder grief
out of these bones,

select which delirium to tuning-fork
out at you–

such unknown thunders,
may what bloodies me
never bloody you.”
———“notes on a microphone”

“you asked if can I write something on your back,
something new you can keep from your mother.”
————notes, 2004

“‘Michael!’ she’d yell in the voice she’d use
if I ever touched the hot stove,

but I would never touch the hot stove because
the stove in my life was named ‘Michael!'”

————-notes, 2015

“Or rather didn’t sleep,
just left with a sweat running
down our back. Barefooting
the side street cracks, half moon
in a sway above us.”
——-notes, 2016

Fragment Wednesday

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