42 Bookers 2015-21<\/b><\/p>\n
it might only be 42 Bookers 2015-21 it might only be a little life but it is my life & i am unwilling to exit west to lose everything under the overstory. i am a satin island in a sea of fishermen born in the year of the runaways…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":360,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,441],"tags":[4906,5665,5602],"class_list":["post-122260","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-poetry-prompt-responses","tag-2022fullmarathon","tag-bookers","tag-poetry-games"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122260","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/360"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=122260"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122260\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":122290,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122260\/revisions\/122290"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=122260"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=122260"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=122260"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/span>a little life
\nbut it is my life
\n<\/span>& i am unwilling
\n<\/span>to exit west
\nto lose everything
\nunder the overstory.
\ni am a satin island
\nin a sea of fishermen
\nborn in the year
\n<\/span>of the runaways
\nnext to a spool
\n<\/span>of blue thread.
\nsucked hot milk from
\n<\/span>the autumn milkman
\nam all that man is.
\nam girl, woman, other.
\ndo not say we have
\nnothing. for we are
\n<\/span>his bloody project
\n<\/span>a history of wolves.
\nand i would rather
\n<\/span>spend 10 minutes
\n38 seconds in this
\nstrange world
\nin this mournable body
\nin the new wilderness
\nof a real life
\nthan be burnt sugar
\nfor the shadow king
\n& that is the promise.
\nfor no one is talking
\n<\/span>about this bewilderment
\nand the fortune men
\nlose in the sellout
\n<\/span>to a passage north
\nto the great circle
\n<\/span>of ducks, newburyport.
\nthe long take
\n<\/span>of the testaments
\nreminds us 4321
\nof lincoln in the bardo
\n& a brief history
\nof seven killings:
\neileen, elmet, shuggie bain,
\n<\/span>washington black, quichotte
\nas well as an orchestra of
\nminorities in the mars room.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"