Morgan Lucas Schuldt



Memento Mori


O             bright confines                   

                                Ronald Johnson


Like the heard words in the sounds—

every place we are

                                   is one we’ll aren’t.



So, over-and-over.     So arterialy.


     (Re-occasion’s slow abrade.)


As in—these rawing err-ways breach bloud mash-barrel reds.


Trace.     Afrer-scapes.


As in—this dimming makes meaning make

more sense     on the inhale.


Like dusk in the olde adjectives,


these plush, rushed _-teriors

(courses sorted,

                          under-messed).  Words


unchanging long and long


—lust’s mince gears.




Nightish musclings—


              But speeded.


Hands skim-wilde

on the gathering side


as mingle     as outdulge


where lies kindly     distract

from the sick-spoon


from the lunks’ jungs

                                         & our skin (spikeless



                                  their throughency                                       


cramming bare whereabouts

(the oceanwork dark)


w/ howabouts    

                                as if diminish



                (should  mean)


when the white halts loft

                                                  to steeps

                                                                     to break


(as vanish, unespecially)

the jetties’ black angles into sand.





                                for Katherine Larson