Nothing Is Stranger
than what we settle down with every night ––
our bodies in the turned-on dark, its flight
into the swirling of the nowhere lights.
Nothing is stranger than what we truly own,
forgetting, when we can, that it’s on loan:
nothing is stranger than our comfort zone.
Nothing is stranger than what wraps us up
a butcher’s parcel of flesh and bones and dream-stuff
out of which pokes the lover or the killer.
Nothing is stranger than our old familiar.
Our poem of the week submissions are currently closed — please submit again when our next window of submissions opens in August. Keep an eye on our Submissions page for more details.
Although the poem of the week slot is currently closed, we are accepting submissions for our other regular features: MONOGRAPH (a group of poems by a single author) and New Voices (poets aged 18-30 who have yet to publish a full collection).
Please read the full requirements on our Submissions page, before sending your work.
Featured Image: Mark Granier