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Mark Lamoureux

Mark Lamoureux lives in New Haven, Connecticut and teaches English at Connecticut State Community College Housatonic.  He is the author of six volumes of poetry, most recently Frimaire, published by White Stag Publishing.  His work has appeared in Fence, spoKe, Yes Poetry, Ping Pong, and other publications.


Let the heat hang
upon you like a coat
of mail the body
a river of words
without any meaning
diamonds of sweat
disappearing jewels
of great price be not
afraid six wings encircle
the eye of the heart
the body may heal
the mind that is its own
body glistening with
the light of exertion
that ends in silence
that ends in death
that begins in breath
You are always
letting go just like a
they come with their
weather hanging ‘round
them these people
who drift in and out
of life & focus, closed
eye hallucinations
bent towards ultra-
violet & the tides
of dopamine that
crash & recede like
black-winged angels
into the hole where
thoughts once were
still you bend into
lisdexamfetamine dimesylate
parivrtta trikonasana
disintegrating skin
shrinking body

subtle & obvious
as fluoexitine rippling
in shirshasana &
trazodone shaking
in kapotasana, hips released
into weeping
atomoxetine highway
heat mirages that lift
into grey sky just as
the squall ends in silence
that tsunamis over
the conscious mind
trying to build
its crystal citadel
against the rhythm
of everyone trying
to get what they need or else
sobbing in anahatasana,
the nexus of the alternate
timelines that all end
in this singular
moment in time, which
has been in triage since
the big bang so you may
as well wear all wounds
like an albatross or else
get in line motherfucker

Protect ya neck he said,
but how to be seen
under your armor tho
in being seen you need
to look into the void
of other people so
perhaps best to recede
back into darkness
where you have learned
to move & breathe, steadily
blackening into a thick
shadow like the opposite
of bioluminescence
Here you learned to listen
to the stories your mind
tells you because your mind

is the one part of you
that isn’t ruined & most
of the time those stories are true
because you are a goddamn
oracle who sees the rot
in the apple even with your
steadily bleeding eyes
Aparigraha has you
silent running through
the stages of grief
Summer’s gone but
a lot goes on forever
like not not giving
a fuck in front of the amps
thinking of people
you don’t want to be
thinking of every day
trying to prove you’re
not a robot to yourself,
to others because none
of the photos has
a car in it & isn’t
every tangle of letters
a word? To be happy
you must have faith
that someday the Wordle
solution will be “piano”
& your dead will return
within the pause of your
last breath & the living
will learn to love



Falling up
into a sky without clouds
Without my pain
I am still alone
Looking into the water
where I might fall & be done
with all this useless air
& the words that curl their barbed tails.
Jellyfish have no hearts;
an earthworm cut in half
begins two lives; both halves of me
must wait
to be born again. Trees
rebloom in spring;
why can’t I?


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