Hospital (1)

Matthew Johnstone

There is a wall I lean
at       when
the ice breaks apart the house.


knives of wood rum
and milk.       I bite hands.
Clean in planes       intimate
with hooks       pounded
falling air. Sun went badly hail
slapped up       asps. There just

are no straight lines left.       It
loved the earth but could not say.

could not type. Or axe
shut from peeling bark.

Matthew Johnstone is the author of one full length collection of poems, Let's be close Rope to mast you, Old light (Blue & Yellow Dog, 2010), and the chapbooks o n e (Inpatient Press, 2015), and Note on Tundra (DoubleCross Press, forthcoming). He co-edits Pider ( and hosts the E t A l. poetry readings, both of Nashville, Tennessee.

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