drowned thoughts on the moored white of snowless earth
when I learned you were gone I covered myself in leaves
people who learned to scalp nights for bleeding dream
when I learned you were gone the sickled statues with their red-eyed stare
the brainless seagull over moaning earth I was
thick web of sprigs corroded flash
when I learned you were gone my knees hunched to needs
rescinding my sacks of breath within
people who hung their faces in the earth’s hollows dreaming of catkins
darkness in skipping frog-leg leaps
when I learned you were gone and my lobotomized scream covering my head with weeds
people who straggled the winds fanning putrid scent
bushy incinerated floating globules
the sky was a strange manual of pits
when I learned you were gone my bones laid dormant within
harpooning caked visions
Isabel Sobral Campos’s poetry has appeared in Bone Bouquet, Gauss PDF, and Gobbet, to name a few. No, Dear and Small Anchor Press recently published her debut chapbook: Material.