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About this poet

Shanna Compton is the author of three books of poetry, most recently Brink (Bloof Books, 2012). Her book-length speculative poem,The Hazard Cycle, is forthcoming from Bloof Books in 2018. She works as a freelance book designer, writer, and editor in Lambertville, New Jersey.

Back in Seaside

Rain interchangeable with
the walls it falls against
alphabetless like a neon
ring above an extincted
window showcasing something
formerly fabulous now
kinda poignantly disappeared.
I guess that means we're back
in Seaside (since we must
begin somewhere) and it's
probably summer but
can't be as long ago
as the date you suggest
since I wouldn't have been
born, or quietly gagging
at the sentence re: photographs
being "fairly far removed" from
sculpture anyway belied by
a euthanized block
of period tract housing
the loading dock's pair
of refrigerated trucks
the guileless curbs below
the blandishing panes
of all those plate windows
the corrugated doors
rolled shut against a
statement the curves
of the cars as they
throw back their throats
to the light the furtive
things people do in the night
(or don't do) bluely
compiled screen by screen
in perfervid surveillance
I just want to say yes
to you, yes and
watch this.

Copyright © 2011 by Shanna Compton. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2011 by Shanna Compton. Used with permission of the author.

Shanna Compton

Shanna Compton

Shanna Compton is the author of three books of poetry, most recently Brink (Bloof Books, 2012). Her book-length speculative poem,The Hazard Cycle, is forthcoming from Bloof Books in 2018. She works as a freelance book designer, writer, and editor in Lambertville, New Jersey.

by this poet

poem

Last week Mars suddenly got a lot closer.
It used to be the place we'd throw out
as impossible, utterly unreachable, so red
and foreign and sere. Not anymore.
And I'm trying to figure out why watching
the panorama makes something in the hot core
of me crumple like a swig-emptied can,

poem
I watched in horror as the man hung
half a pig by a hook in the window.

Nearby, the sea shone or something.
Nearby, the wingspan of a hawk cast an elongated shadow.

I listened with horror to the words I was missing.
A wrongness was growing in the living moon.

& nearby, the sea rolled endlessly.
Nearby,
2