for Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino


Lauren Marie Cappello







to drink, the constant

of language, or,


stoic straightness, to swallow,

the diaphanous concept

of a chair.


how, there, his lavender hands

construct woman from words?






of swallowing, of back & forth

things, see-saw dichotomy of the atlantic,


& traffic, a chair, a construct, where

the weight of his glasses, momentarily

upheld by the bridge of her own nose


knows the conundrum of

kindling, the cost of counting, of

one wrong decimal, and ellipsis,


the multiplication of zeros. is sorrow. o

is now nowhere, & nowhere is near no other.






o stratums, i’m straddled upon

hour hands,


wrinkling the comic cosmic cloth,

the cotton bed-sheet, dreams

of a word-loving deity


fill me, uses inside sounds.

& never thinks of other

uses for parentheses,


watches you from a distance

as you were cloudless.









Lauren Marie Cappello is a poet, writer, and musician.  Her work has appeared in The Solitary Plover, Shadows of the Future: An Otherstream Anthology and in E·ratio 20, among others. 



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