Rachelle Hanna (a slideshow)
The Whole of Boredom
Breakers
The shore is falling away from the page. A blue yawn. I lived here, and could not forget. Even as the salt-air dried my thoughts. Nothing but the lungs to cradle that soft beater. I would call out through the shape of its face like winter stealing the last of the warmth from this shed. Not yet abandoned, the body… Read more →
Every Sunday
Every Sunday as I take out my trash, following the path demarcated by two story high walls of molded ACs through my back alley, I hear them rant, spit flecks sprinkling the pavement occasional and wet as October snow. One night I hear them clear, the nights freezing over and the wind’s at rest, they make a crass joke about… Read more →
Delicious
Sowing cemeteries never out of style,Mounds of people dot this forest.All the while,This war,All around the war, war,Wears down fear to the next normal. A run aroundBehind the empty hotelIn barely a villageSmelling of snails feastingIn ponds of the field people: A blond boy fishes.Another me.I rush past himFor the health of it. I now pass the stone,Concrete cover of the… Read more →
organic engine
: organic engine aglow in mortar knows neighbor moans by pitch & flushes & steps by the frequency of floorboard cracks : tone & exposure acculturate a scion discolored fractured smooth at the graft : flyers slid through cracks cry cars got jacked : a laugh track cues our own as we squeeze passed ass to ass through halls built… Read more →
A Hospital
We can assume we weren’t herefor any real reason other thanto rest but what solace to retchwith a staid view of the riverand psychosomatic barrier islandsof the self the neurasthenic riverainwith its racket of birds impossibleto make out except as swatches of colorimpossible to hear through thick windowsimpossible to wear as these drab vestmentswe hold to us so thinly allits… Read more →
Triple Abecedarian of a Fervent Dream Inside a Nightmare Inside Backwards, Nonsensical Reality
THREE YEARS LATER: Vertigo
(A poem is born outside, hanging by my window; it flirts with disaster.) I remember the first time we went to Central Library in DTLA. We walked around, perused the poetry and children’s section. This was where we belonged: we were delicate and foolish like the brittle petals of an autumnal wildflower, like an adobe-vintage-vase filled with salted caramel ice-cream… Read more →