Poetry: LM Rivera

Words for Clayton, Spoken Lastly



if i insist on the imprecision of a tower, an ant crawls over your hand

i just might be, in actuality, the turning away from objects lessons  redactions  phenomena    and much else that attempts to balance the act

as there is always a tub in an empty scene, so will no one climb in unless there’s a reason to move from where they are to where they’re not

we might call these images:      hours

what happened to us is perfect and yet it continues in the way water does not experience the subject at hand

don’t presume context when you are standing in this desert, you will only be sent back home











Catherine’s Daily Painting


the tree stands for everything that rots

a copper bullet enters the root as a double abandoned in
amongst its splitting

who cares for portraits of RIVERS
they were always torn apart

and when i stand on earth as deliberate as possible
i imagine an angel sitting on a lit up radio

young hidden obtuse like a violin











Omar and the Order of Bees





would you have become a detective

disturbing the earth’s commandments like a quixotic wife

should I say wife or should I say the weather remains

have patience with me as you would permit history to restore the cult of men

today everyone’s mask is a bird

in another time
we’ll sacrifice the place that kills us














The Surety of a Disembodied Poesy

Poetry’s anatomy circumvents transcendency—akin to the skulking hyena and its distorted doppelganger affronted by Rimbaud’s devil. The Book being a body. The Word being an alchemic blood. Language as a house. Poetics as Da­sein. Though, a surrogated uncovering might suspend material declinations. The Body dies—does the Poem? A crisis confronts the Poet. You will expire but will your work? Uncovering may prolong the Form but Form is an historical machine, metamorphosing­unto­death. “And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we/who never let each other sleep above it.”1 Immortality of the Name (Achilles­ian)—the amaranthine calling and the “called back” (Dickinson­ian)—are we with myth? Or, is a disembodied poesy also a historicity of incalculable prolongation? The Book transmogrified into Question. The Word being a wing. Language as a home. Poetics as a “handshake.”2 Poesy as response.

Out of the void a new form will be born in an immense poem.

1 Marina Tsvetaeva
2 Paul Celan






Umbrella (Dante-esque)Lucas M. Rivera lives in Oakland, CA. He co-edits Called Back Books w/ the poet Sharon Zetter and is studying with the philosopher Dr. Marek Bielecki. His work has appeared in Witness, Ragazine, comma,poetry, Hidden City Quarterly, and Textsound. Forthcoming poetry will appear in Upstairs at Duroc.

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