Member since July 1, 2009 | 3,914 Readings |

Thomas Gibney

is the poet laureate of abandoned boxcars.

Recent Work

Brooklyn by way of Piedmont

(1)

673 views

I’ve been to Asheville. Maudeville. Dollywood. / The vaudevillian neon ache, the cannibal notions of a circus / population fucked up on…

Poemnation

(0)

858 views

It’s like we’ve said before: earth won’t fluff / its cushions for us, why should heaven? / Idiocy makes for good talk, but / / banter alone…

“I’m alone in the…”

(2)

770 views

I’m alone in the tourniquet of shade in / the garden watching apples assail space / with the way they punctuate it. / / They’re so good at…

Currywood. Running. Noon. Bright.

(2)

1,613 views

Around the apricots. Damascos. That’s Spanish for. / The breeze. Hissing in my. Where did my breath. / I need it back. I’m running. The water....

Subscribed by Thomas Gibney

HEAVEN IS FULL OF GARBAGE DISPOSALS:…

Meg Hurtado

(1)

54 views

It all began with cherry blossoms, // cake, a swimming pool. / // It began again by refrigerator light, as so much does. / From bed to…

3.29

Sarah Louise Garrido

(0)

16 views

White blossoms, I catch my breath. / Shapes I’ve seen before a hundred times before I wake / I try to make you come. I let it out. // Trees glutted…

3.15

Sarah Louise Garrido

(0)

21 views

The sun can’t make up its mind, punching through / morning mist, setting fields abuzz. / Then wrapping into itself, clouds winding / into great…

3.5

Sarah Louise Garrido

(0)

25 views

Gentle rains coat the roads, drop their sheen / curtain on the world, making the plunge / into early spring palatable, subtle. // I can’t keep up…

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