among the catalogues, where you suck your pen
i make off with my vision of the past
so long tucked beneath my surcoat & strapless bra
the sheriff’s badge of my crowned heart
now a sigil of the flesh
and though i am ready for an argument with you
between the pamphlets and the lion-faced boys
you have already absconded with the ribbons, rings, and contracts
and all other seals which make speech possible





causes beauty
spiritual freshness
satisfaction in marriage
precious children

even the most distant hindrance
remains special
language, pears

cease their complexity
look more like

the woman will stand with her back turned
till he has gone by
carefully eat out of the same dish

because of the barrier that exists against impulse
her irritability and malevolence
leads her between
fantasy through





where is your
I miss her

antique chair
her late American

the hart left this country
when even pottery
was young

forget patience

is this another

tell her
they build data
from her perfidy

and gendered
American objects
like ourselves

build smoke-proof silos
and shadow
our eyelids

can you hear
the gun buybacks
the wax cantata?

tell her I play
the spurned lover
the French horn

my playing

say late hart in a silk lining
say lost treasure



* "Where Are All The Women Futurists" is covering Max Ernst’s Une semaine de bonté, "Distrust of the Stranger" is covering (erasing!) Freud’s Totem and Taboo, and Dear Lisa is covering Lisa Robertson's Debbie: An Epic


Lindsey Webb's poetry and other writings have appeared in Sixth Finch, Asymptote, Tammy, and others. She has received fellowships from the Vermont Studio Center. She is from Utah and lives in Iowa City.