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C.N.P Poetry 

namaqualand; descent

By: Sammy Moore



october chill melts into morning

peel back the sleep from our eyes

as shouting fills our ears

two battered bodies    huddled under trench coat blanket

barely shielded   cracked sliding glass door     

a corner      under a table     the only space left

unconscious bodies     pools of vomit various styles of refuse

strewn about        hosting their own misfortunes

we slipped out the back door        shoeless wrecked

before he could know we were there still shouting

and we end up here     as we so often do when there’s nowhere else to go

leaves all blown away grass a faint tint of leftover green       fading   no snow yet

splashes of sunshine      the last kiss of warmth   a gift to sustain us through such a harsh winter

green and purple woven blankets      from those metal shows we went to   that summer

limbs twisted together     sharing energy sustaining each other

protected in full view

vertical movements quite limited       slight shuffles mainly rolls

counting stars at noon     forgetting our names       finding new ones

embodied geometry     making new shapes a constant point of contact

within our patch of safety    from things less dangerous: just poisonous grass             tone deaf monsters

singing        beat boxing             killin it

moustaches of our hair       like we did as children

one of those times our soul reconnected     reunited      released 

one soul delicately trimmed into two halfers

with the marks to prove it

photo after photo     immortalizing the moment

warm surprisingly warm warm enough to stay for hours

close   to you       to everything we’ve always been

dried blood flecks off shared blood      the sun sinks prematurely

we shake last night from our clothes         scrape it from under our fingernails

sunshine sneaks peeks through shifting leaves

the night before you became my guide   through the heavy     the wrong

grounding sinking roots   deep

over here      saving lives and i will follow you forever


slight sting in the nostrils

on the backs of shallow breath

failure and saffron burnt lilies

like her mother likes

antiseptic and clutch spirit

stark   slow compression   

thick air 

wrestled   absent vessel

under trailing fluorescent light


gasped air turned acid

souring from the inside 

pin prick tingling   grey lips face     

muscles seized from toenail beds  rolling

to sunken eyelids

digits curled down and tight   gripping

nothing   and everything

aching    thirsted infant veins

tubes and wires     kink and delay

heavy blink       light footsteps 



Sammy Moore, a Northern Colorado poet and teacher, is a recent MFA graduate and Anselm Hollo Fellow of the Jack Kerouac School at Naropa University who continues to chase the strange across darkened landscapes, in hopes of finding loving landing spots for her work.

Lover of cats, bats, and all things bumping in the night--teacher, thinker, and aspiring therapy-rabbit guardian.


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