mistaken for its own virginity

All photographs of great art include the wife.

Red eagles eye fire yellow carousels.

O tinsel, o hair weave, o fishing line trailing from the cheek!

The architecture, too, her hands in sleepy mudras.


The wind came in around the window, blinds revealing its shade.

I had to beat my pillow with deep fists.

He served up his liver with the balm of onions.

The lost lamb dampens the velvet rope with her nose.


Lost to drugs? Saved by them! Saved by them again!

You were not my sunshine. You were not my other sunshine.

The slave could never shake the stone from his song.

The sorrow in the eyes precipitates as crystal.



feel velvet before it becomes felt

I don’t know the depths with the shallows layered on.

Shlepping ropes and easels, come. Crowned with measles, come.

What used to be aired was in error. It was these we breathed.

I am my own theft.


While you follow the ball, it feels followed. It feels followed out.

One more hit, this time in smaller ice.

A penguin meets our weeks. We sit down on our feet.

The houses were set up to seat the fundamental sea.


Freaks, she said in complementary blue.

In spaces under fog we squirreled away wet mansions.

Into the lasso’s lingering.

Into the turn now, sliding.



heapbig approximate paradox gypsy of the rain

The way to get out of is not the way.

What becomes of the chicken is carved in the shell.

The sun. Wait. The sun. Wait. The sun again.

How could you tell it was a secret? It was a secret I had to tell.


Elements of a painting assemble in the anteroom.

Leaves and when they leave.

It’s not really much later than late.

On the oils the light floats and bends and curves and turns.


I’m looking for dreams to replace dreams that are bad.

This roof doesn’t know stars. This roof doesn’t know stars from unstars.

I would like that to be the way of food.

I am going to eat my mouth. I am going to eat all through its moves.



your light bulb in the egg-beat of a telephone crocodile

The room was spinning, which added to its colors.

If you have to, but only if you have to, but only if it occurs to you.

After the birth there was a lot of waiting around.

As before.


Yes, we have been here. This was the middle of things.

I got your letter. Thank you for the claw.

We prepared thorns.



Out of heaven one blue drop pried its trembling body.

I am a seed. Make the grave shallow.

To perpetuate the species, I would masturbate the rhino.

Out of love.



a waterfall that thinks it’s machine

We should be waiting for the sound of water.

Whiteness of hair, especially against hurt skin.

The frog’s legs are cold and getting older.

Snowflake the color of the worst example.


At the chill the bottle asks for.

Barring Saturn’s, whose ring coldest in the night?

Turning the ring, we keep our oath in light.

Several persons stood about in pregnant poses.


Yours is not a real love, to the president the president said.

We tend to the mending when beyond the gate angels rage.

She was given as wedding present the roan horse.

Ceaselessly, the window.



Glenn Ingersoll works for the Berkeley Public Library where he hosts Clearly Meant, a reading & interview series. He has two chapbooks, City Walks (broken boulder) and Fact (Avantacular). He keeps two blogs, LoveSettlement and City Walks. Recent work has appeared in Poetry East, Askew, and Hearty Greetings.