ditch,

the poetry that matters

Anton Frost

Anton Frost is a poet living in Grand Haven, Michigan. His poems have appeared in ditch, Calliope Nerve, Junk Lot Review, amphibi.us, Flashquake, greatest lakes review, Midwest Literary Magazine, Verdad, etc. Poems forthcoming in Killpoet and Grasslimb.

all along
(an "E" lipogram)

as dawn voids / murk of night

transom of body
floats       (just body)

on pliant shapings
of light ( and rush, sound, )

                 past   land.

pants still on,     soak, bluingly
but shirt torn partway         off

and lagging;

a long night
drowning
around rocks.

foam juts it into tow,
brung into whorl of small bay

as gulls hungry and waking
watch it for spasm
or any sign of ( possibly )( as just a body) fighting back.

opal hands : almost livid,
moving without communication.

lungs full : dozing fluid
and mouth savors sips
and swills of loch.

approaching a strait
closing in on a city

it bobs and in vigor
not its own

voids voicing its distinction
from plant o/r wood

but calls out
with obligation
of sight.

a boat a ways off
rocks & sways.

a pair,
        old man
     young boy
out fishing.

boy pointing out:
      "what's that?"

man without looking:
      "probably nothing."

carrying on : finally lying still
      :   hitting sand



body (as transom)  :   (as just body)
(as it had all along)



nothing to do
but slowly       fall apart.

 


circle

i draw a circle

      am shown
a circle.

i am tired.
things sharpen & happen.

all matter in the universe
is trying to make itself into a circle.


i fill with caverns.

my heart caves.
draws water,
not dark.

i don't want
to have to breathe.

this constant need
to move away
from where i want to be.

underwater
i draw
zero breaths.

i long for some cavern
to be in

to see far
into nearby things

failing to become
circles.

i forget to be seen,
and so take shape.

i step out for some air
into a dizzy body

and see spots:
little circles.
implied color.

little faces wobbling

faces
like water

always changing
expressions.

i tell small stories:

"the half-moon is up all day
pale, apparently dying.

buzzards overhead
circle it."

i draw a circle.

am shown.

you walk up
in a dress made of water.

your legs appear
as shapes of legs.

we turn (to see things)
in circles.

from every direction

dawn happens

the air starts

the world
turns yellow

jumps off a cliff

into water

...survives

 

fearsome

I.

i forfeit

call my body

          myself

II.

watch my hands & feet
sleep thru space

startled electric shapes

little fish
darting between phobias.

we are houses
hushed & partly hollow

with enormous carp
for pets.

III.

grin - inn - inn
- inn

a distant engine turns
in a car
like a heart

able to chase
blood
& other hearts

such beautiful names
for cars

i have to share my name
with myself.

IV.

i look into your eyes
with eyes of my own--

each hidden
from the other.

V.

fig. 1 thru etcetera:

a whole body
emptying
out the head

into the air.

in distance

only distance
is fearsome.

VI.

eyes shark-swift
& sly :

watching
the monkeying of light
with air,

boneless wrist
faceless head
nameless self
of shadow

&

sleight of lit objects
over zero-space.

i don't know how to be what i am--
a shell awake
a shell asleep

an example for shells
or
a warning to would-be shells

i don't know what i am--

either
drawn-in w/
blue crayon of remembered water

or
standing
over the doze of loch-shallows

knee-deep

mirroring
the namesake

of some far-off place.

VII.

named, lived in,

imagined having a face

          seen from the outside

the house
eventually
empties,

whatever

the cause.

VIII.

i throw my hands up

     like flames.

the bodies of fish
     glisten like mirrors.

 

12 mountain views

1

clouds fall away like fish
into suspended blue Sierra-whorl

everything dizzies & swims

2
       we rest in dip between peaks
look out from
       rocky curve

up here        earth's mathematics
can be touched
        stepped over

harmful when ignored

3

a few steps then rest

our lives get heavy

          become visible
in the thin air

every movement is hard music

4

each peak appears

                 affirms distance as


        one separation

including all others

5

the majuscule jut
   denser than time

        i breathe & see
crouching in limbs,

in hollow spaces between marrow cells

6
peaks imply voice
   blue-rock slur
     chorus of absent birds

every siren of your life

7
stone:    constant exterior

       hearing airsong in lack of music

we pick up fragments
  "nothing more can enter the rock"

8
absolute heights of emerging material

earththrum gains pitch,

     reverses



Palaeocene    Cretaceous    Jurassic

Disappearance     Pampas      Symbol

Murk             Tree             Man





9
peaks--sediment & hidden arches

supra earth    packt

the humongous surface breaks

for a billion years

10
we climb together

divisible.

mountain range gets close

lessened purple crescendos / peril : of detail : of stillness

crag-steepened voids

ultimate positive up
from sea-grey

11
   stone pucker
old lava makes massive face


knowing   nothing

12

we go back down
the way we came

so long

ago.


X


X.

beams cross

light falls between

like old music

bridge-water hissing past

fish touch      we laugh

(at words)

limited:

one city
at a time.


IX.

you wake from abominations.

perfections.

lives in life.

you smell like old books.

faintly recalled

objects make the strange algebra:

when remembered,
x is always zero


felt but no longer touched
objects.

memory fits
like an eyelash
into the dark
of a closed book.

squinting you can feel them.

something about wishes.

something.


VIII.

windows down
you drive
road through woods

my eyes close:
bosky strobes/late sun

bringing flashback:

the glow-worm circles time

forgets itself/becomes light/reveals

the canvas hiding in flawed white

hidden in

my white pants

my piano-key skin

you

me

you

me

inside

shoeless

shirtless

bald-hearted

i diminish, grow hands

utensils

i begin

i paint without mercy

cover the white with you

you without your appearance

your coverings leap into reds, deep greens--onto white

pose as ruse

now you really
sit there

you you

quiet your hands

stop this infernal bodying

your hinting eyes

quiet all that blood

forget/become.

please shut the fuck up,

i pray to your body.

look out the window

look out

i don't love you

you don't exist

yet.


VII.

traveling between

cities

remembering things

as the coastal sun sets

leaves a haze of swans

and jazz on the radio.


VI.

we appreciate it now

traveling

through nothing

learning to be grateful for nothing

looking out car windows

operating pedals

steering

into nothing--

the nothing

the view

shoots up
from.


V.

x is always zero.


IV.

we memorized the maps,
no money to buy them--

we would not steal
except telepathically.

stopping to sleep.
stopping to watch each other.
stopping to stop.

stopping whenever the coast curves,

on my knees

i bend over a napkin,

approximate the personality of the sea

with a pencil.

you lean out the window,

laugh.

more like the sea

than its name.

my sketching is hopeless.
you are better at this than me.


III.

one city
at a time.


II.

stray guitar found

still works

we play like warriors in the dark

knowing

there are no mistakes
more harmless

in the world

than mistakes

in music.


I.

to be is to know.

to know
is to have acted.

we have been
so much.


X.

driving at sunrise

the next city appears

shoots light

your face glows

when remembered

as if you forgot something terrible.

we lean forward, looking up--

x is always zero.

clouds cross.

light falls between.

yes

one city
at a time

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                                                                                                                        March 11, 2012