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July 17, 2018 / barton smock

person Donna Vorreyer, two poems


Donna Vorreyer is the author of the collections Every Love Story is an Apocalypse Story (Sundress Publications, 2016) and A House of Many Windows (Sundress, 2013) as well as eight chapbooks, most recently The Girl (Porkbelly Press, 2017).


Crossing State Lines

Insects collect on the windshield, ping as they explode,
death masks splatted in random rows.

Heat lightning blurs the humid air, the glare
of headlights fluttering with their ghosts.

I should sing them all a requiem, herky-jerk
a hallelujah, but I have miles to go. You know.

My own issues. Fever daughter, crater dweller,
creature of the great black hole.

I struggle to name the ache that godzillas its way
through the bright cities of my bones.

Voice tongue-stuck and swollen. Joints locked
in a genuflect. Arriving, I lean against a fender

and stretch, my shadow cast ahead of me
on unfamiliar streets, elongated, erasing the bulk


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July 17, 2018 / barton smock


his sister, three years away from leaving social media, has a boyfriend whose depression is a feminist. darkness lands again the role of weather. on paper, his cough is somewhere between cricket and cross.

July 16, 2018 / barton smock

One Poem By Eleanor Gray

The Rising Phoenix Review

ambush of evening, solstice spilled on stone
without animal blood but other: our true names written
where river runs her blue arms through a velvet meadow

pale one, bending to waters, with a language of seeing &
silent woods, I am obscured by every beauty

you have never belonged

fleshed with the ordinary work of death,
irreducible in otherness

black violets, marsh-lily, open as many mouths in the
open chest of diligence

the day is feasting on the innocent, reeds of sun
bound in their song

familiar world, I do not know you

what does my mad heart dream of? my fingers,
stained with the tithe of violets

a dark sea spread with voyages, shy animals,
a garden where all love is,

far from me

with only dreams to feed the soul on,  I go,
through the dark wood,            wings waxen

time has no name for you, the words of…

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July 16, 2018 / barton smock



[vacancy musics]

how priest-like
my father is, the biter
of his own
breast, in the church
of my sister’s



[home musics]

on symbolism
the anxious
to disguise
their fatigue

/ they are not
all here
my bread-shaped


[dust musics]

the treehouse oven, the breadlit

moon- so what

he don’t remember
right or left
which hand
his brother, how many

per nightmare


[predictive text]

he knows three languages
but hurts me
in one

our baby hasn’t spoken in years

we were left two insomniacs

they are slowly
picking teams

satan has no memory of passing through deer


[spider bites]

I lose
at times
the names
of the boys
I hid from…

not an angel, I am allowed
to love
the baby


[I still bring snow]

I think mom’s new dog must have the bones of a kite. I have a lover, now. a he, a beekeeper. a she if she saddens in the nearness. a nothing, a dowry. ghost china. spacesuits for stillborns. under this blanket, a puppet reads to a doll about light. under that, the shape of what goes blind in a poem. I miss you. plural. I don’t wash my forehead. I still bring snow.


[house musics]

no star foreign, brother kisses a spiderless ceiling.

the diver
our father



a sick child can be in two stories at once. anthill. calvary. tell neither. I feel like maybe I am talking my way up the dollmaker’s ladder. eat? I won’t the black duckling. god

won’t the owl. angels

just birds
that faint.


[response musics (iii)]

…weigh god in photos. free a crow from the gospel of the negative. (we) revisit the medicines. call you dead and call you hawk gone to curl in the lap of a cyclops. ask (we ask) for what landbound thing did your body carry time? your past, every year, the same spot. thing never shows.



thru July 16th, Lulu is offering free mail shipping or 50% off ground with coupon code of SHIPIT2018

poetry collections, mine, self-published, are here:


private publications are available via paypal ( or, as such:

chapbook, [BASILISK], 64 pages $5.00
(Feb 2017)
chapbook, [the accepted field], 84 pages $5.00
(May 2017)
chapbook, [in this life another is you], 64 pages $3.00
(Oct 2017)

my privately published work {mood piece for baby blur} is available to anyone donating 5.00 or more to my poetry journal {isacoustic*}

donation can be made, here:
or it can be sent to (

One can check out {isacoustic*}, here:

facebook page:

July 16, 2018 / barton smock

dying boy when did fate begin

there was a radio somewhere in the basement and we knew this because it would click on long enough for us to cover our feet and question our savior’s second go at amnesia. if I wasn’t there, I was probably trying out my father’s fastball with a grip he called the ribs of my neighbor’s dog. not long from this I was holding a baby and said what a vague hiatus. also in this order I may have said you look like a ghost and then not my finger but a finger does snap into place when I smoke.

July 16, 2018 / barton smock




check out this review by Daniel Paul Marshall of former contributor Tim Miller’s new book, Bone Antler Stone, from High Window Press:

Bone Antler Stone by Tim Miller, a review

check out Bone Antler Stone, here:
Tim Miller: Bone Antler Stone

also, both Daniel Paul Marshall and Tim Miller have work in isacoustic*, here:

Tim Miller
person Tim Miller, three poems

Daniel Paul Marshall
person Daniel Paul Marshall, three poems



former contributor Stephanie L. Harper has a new book available, This Being Done, from Finishing Line Press:

also, check out Stephanie L. Harper’s work in isacoustic*, here:
person Stephanie L. Harper, two poems



my daughter, Mary Ann Smock, has written several pieces for The Mighty, and this is her latest:



volume fourth of {isacoustic*}, July 2018, is available here:


review of Heather Minette’s Half Light by George…

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July 14, 2018 / barton smock

suggested titles

the collected bugs created by what haunts them

god the boy-dad of the specifically anonymous

the chores I had in that factless place