Will Edmiston

Will Edmiston is a poet living in Brooklyn.  His writing can be found in The Tiny, the Agriculture Reader, EOAGH, The Boog Reader 4, The Bridge and The Recluse.  His chapbook entitled “effie” is forthcoming on 3 Sad Tigers Press.  He works in various capacities in an art and design library in Manhattan.  He serves as the volunteer archivist at The Poetry Project.

from effie

how to beg a stall
& pass not close but the way
blades have ides like day
see through me
abysmal as a reed
see’d underneath the lake
ever repair itself to the send

                          loads pure.

 on your left itself to the send
 sang from a word like blood
 When you can trust it in your mouth
 lavender hymns with life
 & lightening pulse the earth
 Though you don’t know me
 you might like it


 Across the  river run  Brooklyn to the sea   from this wrist  I was halling
your name  Hello Old Bean, Love Little Bean  the wake dispelled
        Behind a rush)))))) toward   Somewhere Central  Being with you
 Calmed by all regions  The city cathedrals toward the bird of a brain
Is equal to. remains open. w/no system  The day is euphoric  softened
 Myths  on impact    Fruits with a kind of earthy violence.
      Das earth-like feeling  Drive our shared parts to the sea
 On an errand of looseness and debris    Easy    loosies   joined by
 Is worn as our shedule  erupts another mouth round pernod   Ling ling,
  Bicycle   harmony   The  animal  Filament   priests with light
 <<<<<<<<<<<greening>>>>>>>>>>> into  the  très  beaucoup
That is summer   the end  You keep   Come to  unleash  la moon  c, ouiL







 The sound of it all   ^^^^
 is the fluid anchor
   (the vast interior)
 from this tree, and so on
I want you to buy me flowers.










de vie & thy cornices
one bon mot at a time.
I met you with blade and turning
which is heaven, nerve to grain
fade-in the outlying paysage
my schism all over the place
protégé each blade to star
calves Stealville Illinois
 chasms install
grape roofs up to light breathe
prism de spirits te spear thy throat with
bollocks of cloud straight to the tête
& into the dark Rheingold we channel
blown swallow after swallow
by the river run mountains