Read the introduction by guest editor Sawako Nakayasu.

 


The Dress I Wrote Backwards

 

She slipped into time’s knot curled up
She slept in her arms false or true
She dynamic twin palms
trims the stubborn trees
unpleats sun from sharp edges
builds a reflex into knots moving past abstraction
into liquid
She backwards in a dress
one by one between
a figure to think a figurine
She was troubled by many
naming them elements carbon or pulse
She sent balloons into the great
the blue-headed year
and being economical
pairs together in frames the triple
one block of ticking as she
the parallel expert of night
cuts her own hands
how prosody swallows
before you go
and thinks her cash in streaks
joining simple laws to the wind
She what relates to a graph
is omnipresent maximal
coming to a standstill in wood
She heavy traffic having driven
around the end of the edge of
the pursuit of formal steam
She glimpses artists of the moment
painting the pelvis the ulna the remnants
the red gestures in single moments that bend
in the innermost of schools
the combinations figure themselves
as in epics or symphonic sheets
She watching from the inside
what utopia loves in utopia
milk in her hair
and ankles

 

 


The Age of Speculation

 

Drift is choice
This year ghosts meander

Something waits
inside love letters

something remembers
its many stones

In counterpanes you push against
what is useful in what is new

but what remains is either surprise
a patterned display

for example in the delicate
reader of trees who admits nothing

The actualities are drawn like bruises
the way genius will crash into lanterns

or simply windows
in numbered stripes on hillsides

 

 


Figurine

 

Take me to your gall
assay this airy paper
deep cuts
in an empty shell
Or should we say
paper first
then dream later
A fine orb is a secret
in a single climber
bombardments
from the ether
ferocious dream cats
Whistler’s Latin falling
from earth to apple

 

 


Queues

 

We have chosen to be
to live with effort
The water inside waits
is prime six in shadow
As you can see
the matter is
where a blue span opens
a book in George Herbert’s
book in March
The issue is sound
a pale clouded collector
parliament of arms

 

 


Leaflets

 

Things in this poem include

eggs    murmurs

keys and cargo or letters

in a bowl never sent

Single zeros will cave

among the shy

as people pour into shapes

foam or velvet edges

voluntary crescents

shouting for joy

repeating scarlet openly

 

 


Juliana Leslie lives in Santa Cruz, CA. She is the author of More Radiant Signal (Letter Machine Editions, 2010) and Green Is for World, a 2011 National Poetry Series Selection forthcoming from Coffee House Press in late 2012.

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