BOMB CYCLONE

A Journal of Ecopoetics

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James Barickman

springpoem

 

hack to be idyllic
in central park? dusty water
a horned ghost &
the sludge of trees
 
it is the authority of an afternoon
i have taught myself to whistle
only drawing breath inward
vibrating the spittle strung
o’er a symmetry break
 
spring poem, i am waiting
‘side the white cage when
a family of deer materializes
in the middle of the garden state pkwy
and fucks up my car—pick apart
 
rubble like a seed trapped
between thumb and
middle fingers                  Pick
 
a part in a poem
you read me
abt david wojnarowicz
that, for some reason
sticks out, and goes david
i know you could never love me

 
james, this is serious!! :
 
a buck’ll leave the forest
like some guy leaves
the forest: one ft chance
one pound recognition
 
Spring poem, this is a trepid curling
of self like lips ‘gainst a maw:
see some stiffness in their side
some quiet         their eyes
 
toeing a hole in the yard and
putting a face to the wreck.
 
 
 

 

James Barickman is a poet, amateur archivist, and bookseller living in Brooklyn, NY. His work has previously appeared in No, Dear and Strand Zine. He also serves as the regular sound technician for the Poetry Project’s Friday night reading series.

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