Laura Sims

Laura Sims is the author of Staying Alive (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2016). Her first book, Practice, Restraint, was the winner of the 2005 Fence Books Alberta Prize, and in 2006 she was awarded a US-Japan Creative Artists Exchange Fellowship. In 2014 she edited Fare Forward: Letters from David Markson, a book of her correspondence with the celebrated experimental novelist. Her poems have recently appeared in Black Clock, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Eleven Eleven and Gulf Coast. Sims has been a featured writer for the Poetry Foundation’s Harriet blog, and a co-editor of Instance Press since 2009. She teaches literature and creative writing at NYU-SPS.

 

 

 

WALKING DEAD LOVE SONG 10

 

I feel you
you feel me

baby and love
is a magical

story. But blood
is still blood

and tall as
a mountain blood

I’m waiting for
love to come

galloping over the
hills of Atlanta,

or France. Il
y a une

cour et une
fontaine. La biblioteque

est tres, tres
grande. I died

for you baby
last night right

at the end
when you were

a goner, infected
but rising into

your ripened self

 

*Italicized English line taken from Ted Berrigan’s ‘Sonnet XXXIV’

 

 

WALKING DEAD LOVE SONG 22

 

The scene where we all drew our guns. We sent

bullets right
into their
deep metal

doors. Our lead
splintered
& grew

Something gave in the room
: a good man
: & a skull

They were
layered, disgraced. The sound
when it came

was of suburbs
we knew. Rattling, empty,

enraged. Those dumb
dying ducks
stupid fucks
they had gathered
their blankets right
over their limbs &
their soft splattered
ravishing faces

 

 

WALKING DEAD LOVE SONG 25

 

I used to love men
But now I love you—

Brash rotten
Bountiful you.

How strange to be
Wanton again

To be kicking
The sheets to the end

Of the bed, to be
Mastered by

Something
Remote. The remote

Goes astray
And I’m lost

For two hours
Burning with frantic

Regret. Longing to be
Something far

From your
Reach something

Cloistered and
Doddering

Elderly
Blind

 

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