Have you tried
rose hydrosol? Smoky quartz in a steel bottle
of glacial water? Tincture
drawn from the stamens of daylilies grown on the western sides
of two-story homes?
Pancreas of toad? Deodorant paste? Have you removed
all your metal fillings? Made peace
with your mother? With all the mothers you can? Or tried car exhaust? Holding your face
to the steaming kettle?
Primal screamed into a down-alternative pillow in a wood while tree bathing? Have you finally stopped
shoulding all over yourself?
Has your co-pay increased? Right hip stiffened? Has the shore risen as you closed up the shop?
And have you put your weight
behind its glass door to keep the ocean out? All of it? Rang the singing bowl
next to the sloping toilet? Mainlined
lithium? Colored in another mandala? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror
and found the blessed halo
of a ring light in each iris? Have you been content enough
being this content? Whose
shop was it?
your face turning from mine
to keep from cumming 8 strawberries in a wet blue bowl baba holding his pants up at the checkpoint a newlywed securing her updo with grenade pins a wall cleared of nails for the ghosts to walk through
In the rearview, fog extinguishes the hills of new
money—mansions on acres away from road or sight.
Their architected privacy, windows to look out at
a land that won't look back. The fog's secure drapery.
It's space to dance through they buy and what one
might call "dappled light" moving across their acres, light
through their oaks moving over their mares, brushed to a sheen.
Palms of sugar cubes. Soft snorting, I bet. Here, Muybridge
proved their horses fly a moment. In their homes, they can't
hear each other call from foyer to pool house. I am
jealous of this loneliness most of all—loneliness
delimited by colonnade and cold pressed juices.
They make excellent corpses, among the expensive
flowers.... I imagine hills and hills dappled like this.
ALL UP IN YOUR EARS is a monthly podcast discussing, extolling, deviating from and disagreeing about recent poems. Each month, two of us pick out a poem and all four of us talk, hoping, in the process, to learn something about the ways that poems can matter—about what is found there and what, sometimes, for some of us, is not. At the end, we all talk about things that have caught our interest recently, and then one of us calls another poet for a short interview. This month, we discuss poems by Erika L. Sánchez and Solmaz Sharif, then chat with Aziza Barnes about podcasts and fate.