Back to Issue Seven.

from The Nine-to-Five Sonnets [1]



Life, friends, is boring.
-John Berryman, Dream Song 14


we are not dead in the shower not
dead on the express train not dead limbs
piling into stairwells not dead yet telephone
noises the universe inserts pre-paid postage Earl Grey
Rosemary’s grandmother take courage thoughts
floating together elevators all over the city
rise in synchronicity the ink bleeding all over
palms in the lobby it’s the image, we’re entertaining
views of St. Francis’ truly alive rain from a fire escape

in the 1970s when the New York electric grid
kept blacking-out on my futon, ghost-like idlewild, a closed eye
and poetry forever turning itself into a kind of ocean,
broken language keeps spreading out like static and so
I keep to my lost corner, my electric space-heater

Nora Almeida lives in Brooklyn where she works as a librarian and edits the art and poetry journal Staging Ground. Her chapbook, Houses (Dancing Girl Press), was released in 2011. Her poems have appeared in Shampoo, No Dear, Caketrain, and Otherrooms.

More by Nora Almeida: 
News Cycle Debris Poem,” Issue Seven, Poetry
from The Nine-to-Five Sonnets [3],” Issue Seven, Poetry