Morgan Lucas Schuldt


Anachronistically Yrs

Mine say mine to say something.
Or sleepstow this mention between us.
How over yestoyears description dies
& gropes are throes are touchlines put
to trace as some sweigh-bridge.
Sway–the body’s mixplaced satisflictions
for which all doing is banquet.
The craved of thus as done;
the hands of soothes come true.
Love this anachronistically yrs
tipped to lips as sipped
is hail to one’s heat, & means
being. Means
makes warm sheets
‘twixt which are still
wantknots, ah vowels,

rives letter-built between which
between which we bade un-
––be knownst!


Version’s Verge

If nothing I do does & nothing I am say,
whatever you will in the inter-uhmm,
mercies to furies want to be enough
& fall short, furies to mercies.
So our loudship, readypresent, masses
where love is night-&-a-half remembered
& folded in, de-realized as though
a name had been called,
folded again into this kisshand.
Do we care to call it a bless?
To have what back?
Carry forward. Portion this mortal
dabble, this should-hurry of the waist.
Fall from the wartower, your highsleep.
Pretend to be habited. As the grateful,
take your body & go. Or mine,
mindful of our matters made.


Variations from Inside an Hour Glass

Am I soft sift?
Am . . . fists of it?
If I fast most––
atoms’ tiffs? I
omit fasts, if
a moist stiff;
if’s fast omit,
its fit of am
is fast motif.
I am soft sift.

-all three poems previously published at Free Verse


On Seeing Leonard’s Grotesques

Whelmed by a catalogue of flesh, by faces
chaptered as grotesques,
some lurk-looking, others grim-grinned
or surprised. Hatched & cross-hatched
in red chalk, in black chalk heads all verb; exaggerations
of sag, slope, slack.
Of clench, furrow, drooze
incessance. Drafts of else & yet. Inexhaustible,
a living-list of body-blame & graceless
growth. Of humored sake
& gape & health & age. The fore-drawn
conspicuous could practiced
onto paper out of the any-heaven hope
to sketch too:
word for the bare
incurable variety of self.

-previously published at TYPO 9


The Corner on Angel Lust

How long can this motion overmind,
this haughtful onesome last?
One, two, threely forth-and-flaunting
for an hour, a day, so up and budging
from the body’s heap?
Portending what once, and now?
Blunt bridge to some her’s
or his’s yes? Please of a no
that lackens back to earth?
All soft-fledge and new must—
conquer’s nowise
nowhere encore.
Useful such an ago ago,
who asks instead of urges,
give us ables?
Rather than the utmost aw-shucks ode-ing O
some other ahhh-ward out.

-previously published at Shampoo Poetry