No One Can Write A Poem Ever Again

No One Can Name A Poem After A Month Ever Again

A few days, rain.

The sun sets later

behind the lake.

Thank you, winter,

for holding my body

in your glass arms

and blinding me with

your indelicate tongue.

Each early night

when the hail fell,

the faithless called out

but I knew you.

When the shadows

grew they laughed

but I knew it was you.

Awake with numb feet

and a shiver, I will cover

you with fleece blankets.

No One Can Write A Poem On A Plane Ever Again

Red light wing edge blink

the shape of an airfoil.

A damp patch of cloud,

my fantasy, his face.

I swear there’s someone out there.

The stewardess assures me, No.

There is no one, just the dark.

The pilot announces our landing.

No One Can Write A Poem About Love Ever Again

The lifelong project of lust:

wandering aimlessly thinking of you

until this corner of a city is filled

with obsession I can always return

to, drink from overflowing palms.

Wanting want is not wanting you,

but longing requires direction.

I’ve flattened the idea of you

under two pairs of Converse

worn through the soles—

I may as well continue.

Joe Nasta (ze/zir) is a queer writer and mariner based in Seattle. Joe is one half of the art and poetry collective Eat Yr Manhood with Cass Garison. Zir first book can be read for free on issuu and zir work has been published in The Rumpus, Entropy, PRISM International, Peach Mag, and others. Ze co-curates a zine of unconventional art and writing at stonepacificzine.com and is currently part of the 2022 Collective Autonomous in Practice Cohort with the Operating System/Liminal Lab.