Jared Stanley

Air is Normally Invisible


Oh, little dawn pavilion, how you yawn and grin


there’s a green catch of light your eyeglasses get


basic enthusiasms where the flowering grasses nod in the wind


another cruel ongoingness


fell asleep with a cock-shaped bookmark on my eyes


the sea is off somewhere by itself


previously unimagined inhabitants of spume


blood in your mouth did you taste it


Air is Normally Invisible


A king wants to slit the clouds with his fingernail


I teach the kid to eat tubers and avoid roads


it won’t help when things get serious


snow melts in the gaps between pavers


we touch the ground like that, a faint scent (cool)


born in peacetime, fooled by permanence


let’s point a phone at the planets:


in a blurry picture, they touch on the lip of the horizon


Air is Normally Invisible


On Saturday my son lost his sense of smell


it had no public meaning


on Monday my son


the song’s all unstrung


thin wire in the wind


lungs in Pompeii, lungs in plaster


crack the window enough to let him


glide through on a hairstreak’s back


Jared Stanley has had an unremarkable career as a low-level official, poet, and artist. He has written a few books, including EARS and Shall.
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About Posit Editor

Susan Lewis (susanlewis.net) is the Editor-in-chief and founder of Posit (positjournal.com) and the author of ten books and chapbooks, including Zoom (winner of the Washington Prize), Heisenberg's Salon, This Visit, and State of the Union. Her poetry has appeared in anthologies such as Walkers in the City (Rain Taxi), They Said (Black Lawrence Press), and Resist Much, Obey Little (Dispatches/Spuyten Duyvil), as well as in journals such as Agni, Boston Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Conjunctions online, Diode, Interim, New American Writing, and VOLT.