Below are five poems from Will Stanier’s chapbook Everything Happens Next, forthcoming from blue arrangements. Preorder a copy of the chapbook right here. (Preorders come with a special surprise.)

 

 

Parade

 

     sitting wasting time
thereby seize it
      sounds
so aggressive. 

 

     hear actors rehearse
clunky dialogue,
          feet sweaty in flannel lining, look up
and there’s the sky again. 

 

I’m glad not to be sick
     after drinking too much,
           to be without hermeneutics,
     whatever those are. 

 

a man walks by rolling a double bass
                  on a single wheel.
my friend walks by talking on the phone,
     red tassels bouncing
           at the cuffs of her jeans. 

 

     three watermelon lozenges
turn my tongue sugary pink.
      I see a beautiful woman,
             I see a lot of people. 

 

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

 

Murmurs

 

what in the dream has eight
corners?     I don’t know!

 

pinhole camera of my hand, fingers splayed against
the sky   swarming, blushing   in edges and inlets

 

“funny the oneiric specters, like I was
supposed to know about things I didn’t . . .”

 

near the trestle bridge made famous
as regular people out for a walk refused to be our project.

 

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

 

Things to Do on an Airplane

 

look below at the lights
     mostly white, toasty orange
some blue, some green
see an illuminated form of a crucifix
and large patches not, could be
       a forest or some of the ocean. 

 

     sleep with neck bent,
twiddle ur thumbs, practice dying.
watch hockey on seatback monitor,
track puck glitch across ice,
            and eat pretzel rations. 

 

remember as far
as possible, a distance
travelled backwards,
but really has
no direction.

 

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

 

Morning Notes

 

     mountains, clouds
big curly wig,
            sky of light
            overhead
                 makes me dizzy. 

 

fixing my bicycle,
fishing rubber tubes through a bucket,
flip it over and use it
as a table.

 

breakfast = coffee,
leftover cabbage soup. 

 

afterwards, birds shit on fresh laundry.

 

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

 

The Mountain

 

Saturday,
      all afternoon,
drinking coffee,
and making-out in the hammock.

 

feel like a fish, or fish-person,
netted, gasping for air

 

with temporary scars (diamonds) on our legs,
our arms. 

 

Can I kiss you? is a nice question.
       Please ask it. 

 

The mountain is a nice mountain.
           Open pit mines DO NOT belong
                               in PARADISE
I read at the store, eat a slice of cake,
and watch the sun set
one purple ribbon at a time.

 

O, immaculate stranger soon
deleted,   warped by recognition.
O o o o is the sound

 

 

 

Will Stanier is a poet and letterpress printer from Athens, Georgia. He currently lives in Tucson, where he works as a grocery clerk. He is the author of a chapbook, Everything Happens Next (Blue Arrangements, 2021). His poems have appeared in Cleaver Magazine, The Volta, Neutral Spaces, and Lazy Susan.

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