{ else / esque }

/

Yesenia Montilla took part in Platano Poetry Café’s poetry series, here:

http://www.jasminnemendez.com/blog/2018/2/22/platano-poetry-series-yeseniamontilla?fbclid=IwAR3qjvrtF-X1AXTLyJSg0b4dCcfk6In-bt6J_pt5XPEVjfc_8JOBR5SFxsE

 

Montilla’s work in {isacoustic*} is here:

https://isacoustic.wordpress.com/2018/02/26/person-yesenia-montilla-two-poems/

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Please check out Kat Giordano’s new book, The Poet Confronts Bukowski’s Ghost, here:

https://www.amazon.com/Poet-Confronts-Bukowskis-Ghost/dp/1732292205

 

Giordano’s work in {isacoustic*} is here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/07/09/person-kat-giordano-three-poems/

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This Someone I Call Stranger, poetry by James Diaz, is here:

https://www.indolentbooks.com/this-someone-i-call-stranger-by-james-diaz/

 

Diaz has work in {isacoustic*}, here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/07/12/person-james-diaz-one-poem/

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Andrew and Donora Rihn have work up at The Mantle, here:

https://themantlepoetry.com/?fbclid=IwAR3U3qHhvrwyFRrRTZuCCSwHgjS4s1-yKTUQVIf_fEI4P4wDMGxMskU5860

 

see their work in {isacoustic*} here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/03/08/donora-a-rihn-and-andrew-rihn-poems/

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David Bankson has a poem on page 58 of Artifact Nouveau, here:

 

you can check out Bankson’s work in {isacoustic*}, here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/08/24/person-david-bankson-two-poems/

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person James Diaz, one poem

James Diaz is the author of This Someone I Call Stranger (2018) and founding Editor of the Literary Arts & Music mag Anti-Heroin Chic. His work can be found in Occulum, Bone & Ink Press, Moonchild Magazine and Philosophical Idiot. He lives in upstate New York.

+

Oh Friend,

I am a banshee wailer
I am small details
the rain makes blurs of
each important little word
I meant to say
but instead
I am the silent type
sits in his suffering for days
and days

I want to wipe your slate clean
with my dirty hands
but what good am I at brand new starts
days linger on
and each beat
is faster than you’d expect
a heart to be
tearing its weird sister fingers
into your hollow neck line
the gas trace of stars
collecting in our bones

I make a soup of loss
and spoon feed the moon
in your lap, see, I love you
even when you disappear
I pick up the trail behind the 7-11
I go on foot
follow you there
just behind the southbound hurting tree
I come prepared
for you

and every wound
you own
is beautiful
to me.

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