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 […]
Tag Archive for ‘Anton Frost’
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.