Solid Quarter

Visit Trembling Pillow Press for poetry books, broadsides, chapbooks, and Solid Quarter Magazine.

Visit New Orleans Poetry Fest for the annual 4 day poetry festival directed by Bill Lavender and Megan Burns.

Megan Burns' Poeticsofbone&city project on Tumblr

Sunday, December 20, 2020

Ghost Fog



you become abandon itself

bold in the taking

dance upon unsafe floors knowing death

could arrive; it could be brutal 

this world schemes it all into being


you can choose to love anyone here 

if you want to feel nothing, go to language

see we deconstructed of our armor 


when your heart asks, what does it ask

of you, a fencing of smallest space

the way things are predicable inside despair


it’s wanting to matter that opens the path

to you won’t, it’s inside desire

we find lack and name sufferings


you can stack the board, master movements

sit inside your wounding, act like choice

wasn’t the root of all doing


awaken from the dream by plunging 

into life irrationally, dying to greet you

the tune of survive hums for us


you are a man building a boat

on a rooftop that will never sail

i am the director of the movie

putting you in the frame

so you will live forever

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Thresh: Hole

 Thresh: Hole

stand in the sound of angels

threshing like the palm fronds we painted

& held over our dead poured into the river

wherever grief channels its narrow

coursing, there we go & are, always

at the crossroads aware


come to me, find me untroubled

necklaces of skulls, i call each by name

must we always want to see more stars

in a doorway once, we stopped

& i took a picture of the wooden seraph guarding

i thought anything was possible between us then

we swim in never imagined nows, the landscape

of survive is can you breathe, can you breathe, can


we are dangerous in a way we rarely dreamed

now to one another, like i would sit far enough

away to feel you near me is a type of affection

to kiss is a poison, touching derangement

disordered of melody, the sound of us in the past

echoes so loud i lose sight of where we’re going