T.J. Smith

Hospice Memory Fugue

Turn down turn down the pale blue
sheets that feel like paper— flat—
the world outside the too-far window
horizon stretching bleak earth and pale
blue without interruption— flat line
crawl to terminus—no one coming
down from the mountain — no one
climbing over the hill—flat country
baking in the sunlight—irradiated—
no shade country of fever heat and fingers
trace lines to the vanishing point—skin
feels like paper—disaster—paper and
blue ink on a black line—no one
coming to save you—sound blip –
cottonmouth machine drone— foregone
visions and conclusions—no one coming
back from flat country—harsh line
shriek to terminus—turn down
the machinery—turn down—catastrophe—
—catastrophe—pale sheets —and blue.


T.J. Smith is a poet in New York. Originally from Jacksonville, FL, he studied German and Creative Writing at Princeton, and he’s currently completing an MFA at NYU, where he’s the web editor of Washington Square Review. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Gyroscope Review, Split Rock Review, Red Flag Poetry, Drunk Monkeys, Snapdragon, Stoneboat, and Nassau Literary Review.

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