Tony Nozero  © 2010 All Rights Reserved

This Was My New England

Clouds heaved across the sky
like sour milk through coffee.

Past the thunderclap. The town traffic light.
The river routing through the forest
with all the subtlety of a tattoo.

I was going to write a story about the Northern Kingdom.
How I bit in; I chewed.

Instead, out by the clothesline,
here’s autumn shaping up beyond
the yellow stains on an undershirt.

Here are the keys to the car to the road to Canada.
The paint chipping off the moon.




Quite At Home

A star nailed the evening
where mystery flowers into any hands that long for it.

The hand of a woman assassinating the sky,
the woman with the crepe paper body,
she has all of time ahead of her.

The crowd enters:
my future, my real mother, my horizon -
all a little alien yet quite at home.

The sky turns in the hand.


(Cento attributions: Leon-Paul Fargue – In Yellow Towns; Guillaume Apollinaire – The Pretty Redhead; Aimé Césaire – Beyond; André Breton – A Branch of Nettle Enters through the Window; André Breton – On the Road to San Romano; Pierre Reverdy – The Invasion; Henri Michaux – Repose in Calamity; Blaise Cendrars – Homage to Guillaume Apollinaire; Roger Giroux – The Center)



Sarah J. Sloat
Copyright © 2010  

Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and has lived in Germany for many years, where she works in the news. Sarah’s poems have appeared in Juked, Bateau and Opium, among other publications. Her chapbook, In the Voice of a Minor Saint, was recently published by Tilt Press.

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