NIXES MATE REVIEW — NEW POEM UP

I’d like to thank Boston’s NIXES MATE REVIEW for publishing one of my new poems. See the original post here. 

We Don’t Look at Each Other

 

We came to the edge of the forest

to practice the raising of our spirits.

We drove here in reliable vehicles.

We lined them up behind us.

 

A stealth bomber slides

across the sky. I imagine

how thermals feel up

its matte black wings.

I don’t tell the others.

 

One lady raises her open hands

to the damp particles

pumping towards us

from the forest.

She feels the spirit. It’s easy to see.

She jams her hands

back in her pockets

like the rest of us.

 

We’re strangers unkennelled

by irritable attention spans,

dehydrated generosities

and a swirling boredom

with the modern world.

 

Soon we’ll be splashing

gas on the skirt

of this great forest.

Each person will pour

all they’ve got.

 

There’s no sense hurrying

hydrocarbons.

The timer’s set.

 

The headlights at our backs

make it look

like a movie.

Our silhouettes

twitch on the silver

screen of the forest.

 

It’s this last bit of waiting

that burnishes our fear.

THANK YOU CACTI FUR

Thanks to Jim Thompson over at Cacti Fur for publishing these 13 new haiku. Cacti Fur is the only poetry journal in America that would accept these. These 13 haiku got rejected 72 times. Here’s a brief retelling of those rejections:

For rejections 0-10 I remained giddy.

For rejections 11-26 I ate corn dogs or thought that maybe I should find some corn dogs to eat.

For rejections 27-32, which came in the winter, I felt cold on the inside and the out.

For rejection 33, this one never came, I’m guessing the editors were so knocked out by my haiku they just tossed in the towel completely and turned to stone like that one soldier in Clash of the Titans.

For rejections 34-58 I thought maybe all the publishers of poetry in America must clearly be idiots who only publish their white friends. This feelings lasted 46 days and 26 minutes.

For rejections 59-62 I thought maybe I would have better luck being published if my name was Suzy Hiro or Hilario Bustamontes or Mads Kellaway.

For rejections 63-70 I thought maybe I’m a terrible poet and then I told myself that writing is like therapy and then I washed my mouth out with Ivory soap.

Rejection 71 came from the New Yorker, oh Kevin Young, what good are you? You’re a better color than the last dude, but c’mon.

Rejection 72 never came. Rejection 72 was an acceptance letter from Jim Thompson of Cacti Fur. I love you for loving me! But I hate myself for being this needy. Jim, if you are reading this, when can I submit more poems to you, and only you, for rest of my life?

Click here for 13 new haiku by Tim Staley

Here is a picture of me pretending to talk about my 13 new haiku to Kevin Young from the New Yorker: