Three Poems

Brian Foley


Field of Zeros


Green religion

has its fanatics


a viral insurgency


but winter’s dunes

are consigned to

free materials


no one wants

in snow

to be thought of



Close One


Weed returns

singing its accident

for others


a  little knot come up

in the soft spot

a ghost at the gate

of fondness


to us it

wears a little

funeral and to

us it is

the night we

couldn’t sleep

because you

smell yourself



the sun comes

but is no

longer necessary


im going

to wait for what

ever I decide to do




Flowers With Their Heads Down


As much as I’m not flinching

abundance isn’t working right.

Up after night coming out

I’ll reach unspeakableness

that can be heard fertilizing

out of the question:

why’m I not

moved when I forget the comets

I’ve tossed in the sky come over me.

What stands out’s caught more in

the ground’s mathematical gaze,

that debt that holds a dandelion back

from total lift.

At the driveway’s edge’s an edge

infinitely moved away at the time:

some languid unevolved thing

cannibalized with repetition’s again

& again

getting on with the blades

of grass shot up against us

is feedback born daily for

what I’m about to see. I’d tremble

if I knew who or what I stand next to.



Brian Foley is the author of The Constitution, which will be available from Black Ocean in April, 2014. His poems have recently appeared in The Boston Review, The Volta & The Paris American. He lives in Northampton, MA.

Fanzine’s series editor for Fall 2013 is Ella Longpre.