Poetry – Issue 15

The nightmare is my brother being printed, entering the printer, coming out printed / On a photo that shows his hands facing towards us / As if he were banging on a window, if the paper were a window.

I have laughed so hard and for so long / at the ceiling that it started to scare me / like the square root of a poppy seed

And if not lynx by land or lake or aching air / Who is it talking to me here