Brian Foley is the author of The Black Eye (Brave Men Press, 2010) and
The Tornado is not a Surrealist (Greying Ghost, 2008). He has poems
forthcoming in Typo, 751 Magazine and Fou. He edits Brave Men Press and
SIR! Magazine and was recently selected by Pam Rehm for the Academy
of American Poets prize. He lives in Massachusetts where he attends
the UMass Amherst program for Poets & Writers.

Somewhere A Ceiling Clouds

That eyes lap
when not looking
we know them
later to be quoting
the waves
show me what ant
can open a vein
the lovely have
their own gauntlet
to run
our solutions
parachute & scissor
the string
while they must
dance to answer

Left with Direction

The rook
self conscious of
his side ways

climbs out
of his
box of fear

& moves

gone is
his purpose;
all's left

is direction.

He exists
but without
a strike

is unable
to prove it.

Turing Test

It is difficult
to value what cannot
be named. The light of
another person. The world
of that feeling. A want to want
without residue. What we have
been intersects at center.
Like a gashed onion
it demands a fee.
Let it be relief.
A realm.

Public Demonstration

I rake the leaves
that make
the young girls cry

every bloodsport
is made for
this purpose

only in savage
is a heart
beat heard

I look for a
forest that
can contain me

but always
climb a tree
to discover

the peace
of our house
without wind

that kindness
you couldn't
show me

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