h o m e........
p a s t   i s s u e s....
s u b m i s s i o n s....
l i n k s






my hip   a single ambit

its raw red thread    a piracy

of voices   
shifting through their tones   

“as if by law”

the can lid   bites   exposing
me as meat    cry
of the pliable    animal  

arranging          toward its pain
slice     of shirred skin    folded back

“they crushed it   wings and all”

in my lung
a pressed assemblage                         

where in the ransacked pages does it say




This is the way to travel: put yourself
              on something that moves and wait.

As all the dressed-up bodies step on
               and descend. With the slow formality of

the Monongahela—no. These bodies rise
               like lazy saints, barely noticing

their own ascent. Some people bear themselves
               stored up in their hips. Others, in their chests. Somewhere between

want and vanish, you and I showed up.  Now sex
               is a crushed arrangement, made

on the Internet. If only I had a place, 
              I’d let you put me in it. Different people go up

and come down. Different people
                              keep on coming down.



BIO: Alix Anne Shaw is the author of Dido in Winter (Persea 2014) and Undertow, winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky Poetry Prize. Her poems and reviews have appeared in Harvard Review, Denver Quarterly, Los Angeles Review, and New American Writing. She is also a sculptor; her work can be found online at www.anneshaw.org.


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