alina-gregorian

You look down and see mud where the post office
used to be. Your hat is made of hammers but you
are not afraid. You look to the east where the advent
calendar hangs. Just beside the mountain range you
hear a pack of wolves entering a deep sleep. This is
where I was last year, you think. Except last year
never happened and tomorrow is a bowl of oranges.
—  From “The State of Utah Is Shaped Like a Glove,” a poem by Alina Gregorian
Thank you for placing the porcelain doorknob in your collection of tangible objects. It
has been a pleasure sweeping feathers off your sleeve. You sleep in the timbers of night. I
have but two molecules to gather in the galaxy. When you find the poem that swept your
soul into a forgotten atom. Forget that line. When you place together clues as to why I
may never be in love with you. I sat on rocks and threw golden horseshoes in the space
in which you sat. Were you looking for me then? Was anybody aware of the conceptual
difference you made in the lines of my red and blue painting? This I say as a way to forge
the neglected planet on which I stand.
—  Feather on Your Sleeve, Alina Gregorian

Thankful to Alina Gregorian for asking me to read a poem here at HuffPo.

Thankful to Bianca Stone for talking to me anywhere always! Thankful here for Arisa White asking Bianca and I to have a conversation up at HER KIND.

Thankful to have these things to read and watch and listen to and to be thinking about -                  THE EMILY DICKINSON READER by Paul Legault

Four Poems by Julia Cohen up at BOMBLOG

          Basketball Paintings by Rachel B. Glaser

poems from SIGN YOU WERE MISTAKEN by Seth Landman, forthcoming from Factory Hollow Press

          this beautiful broadside of Caryl Pagel’s poem LEVITATION, designed and letterpressed by Guy Pettit at Flying Object

these poems by Heather Christle up at Two Serious Ladies

Dara Wier in Octopus issue 5

pinwheeljournal.com
Volume 6 - Pinwheel

  “Untitled” by Devan Shimoyama

Here is the new Pinwheel. Four of my poems are featured but I don’t care about me. Right now you should read Mark Cugini, Carrie Lorig, Kelin Loe, Emily Toder, Alina Gregorian, and everyone here. I’m actually shaking with how desperate and wonderful these poems have left me.

Pines fall from the sky. You open your mouth, you want to speak, but words are motions and your hat keeps falling off. You tilt your head to catch the falling pines. You expel all my expectations. You never use nouns. The feather on your lapel is not valid. Please depart this poem until I feel the need to demonstrate animosity I’ve never felt before.
—  From “Bark Flies Over Nebraska” by Alina Gregorian
Alina Gregorian is the author of Flying Bark, a forthcoming chapbook from Monk Books, and an, as yet, untitled chapbook from Diez. Her poems have appeared in Sink Review, Boston Review, GlitterPony, and other journals. She curates a video poetry series at the Huffington Post, co-curates Triptych Readings, and co-edits the collaboration journal Bridge. She teaches creative writing at Rutgers University, and lives in Brooklyn, NY.
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Alina Gregorian reads at the Lungfull 19 launch reading