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Kelly Schirmann

3 poems


i am outside you

in your fake weather

burying my poor boots

i was the one

dead from leaving

but i’m lying

your type

is the doe woman

you woo her over and over

into the snow

her deep brown bangs

against the bark

her tits translucent

as the worst moon

i could never make a radio

from a tripwire

i will never vacation

in copper canyon

jump nowhere for no one, i say

and shoulder a satchel

but even that

is bullshit


i sent you a text

that i found your letter

it’s not what i wanted

to begin with

the snow is too much

to come to

in the air like

more air

i am at the beach

with someone else

he holds my hand

watching the breaks

he breaks my heart

kissing my neck

we could have been

in cactus weather


we ate so slowly

from the same

meager bowl


who cares

that the moon is up

that you can

so easily obtain a gun

there is a coat

i belong to

& there is you

at night

we can still see the ocean

we still need a mountain

to sleep underneath

& become small

i make my hands

from an old knot

an actual moment

of sun

there are so few

actual words

there is a part

of your body

that does not disappear

when i call to it

i want my first pet

against the hill

i want a means

of hunting him

i want

the black bear

to eat from our trash again

& you in the rain

do you still love me


what is that

big deadness

we yell at

over the trees

Kelly Schirmann studied languages, personal thought patterns, & forms of apocalypse at UC Berkeley. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon & continues to do very little else.