Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Anton Frost’


the speed of light being what it is   your whole body is afterimage,   the entire pale cello of you crossing   then uncrossing your legs– the whole wilderness of you   a sudden and exact history, the sex in the poem of you   a pulling apart of libraries for the right ache   between words.   the speed of light being what it is   a touch […]

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Reaching you

Everything that reaches does so both inward and out. I can’t reach you   without going in up to the shoulder of what I am, without pressing my face   to something crying out to be both wild and asleep.     Anton Frost has appeared in Verdad, Parcel, The Bacon Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Michigan.

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