jacob is publishing words.
Find excerpts and links to some of those words below.
The poem “i. anthropocene,” the first part of larger poem, “next year, home,” was published in the “Pillar of Fire” queer and anti-Zionist Haggadah, a collaboration between Pushcart Judaica and Making Mensches.
The four-part poem “polished smooth” was published by Jewish Zine Archive as a part of their omnibus titled “WE LIVE AS IF ON THE EDGE OF A VOLCANO.”
The poems “stasis” and “our names” were published by Pandemonium Journal.
An early version of the twelve-part poem “witness,” originally titled “minyan,” was published in the “Love, Hope, & Joy” collection by the anarchist anthology Rulerless (the poem begins on page 74). It is now published as a chapbook by Bottlecap Press—you can learn more about that more information on that in the zines tab. Find below the first three sections:
i.i. blush
the orbit of a satellite
overhead and in the rear view mirror
in wet asphalt the road whistles the trees
chant the sky gleams open black and gold
redshift slowed to fever
embers deepen but the lumbering metropolis
is only very slightly bruised
i sigh a prayer in vespered doubt
my god the people who are in and out
in and out of reason in and out of time
and slide it rolled into a bottle cold and lonely
to float along the hudson
down down to where my people lie
nocturne in a loft as in a cold bed
a dam unto the ocean
wading softly you and i
adrift toward nigh though these
patchwork clothes are often heavy
the crag explodes as scarlet jettied
undergrowth blushes forth to sound the whisper
savor these bursting moments of the dawn
for god and god alone
i.ii. fever
forgotten gods alone
it is reasonable to wonder
if the winds will ever cease
huddled down against walls
that tap the drops of rain
cascading bullet-like
from heaven horizontal
the memory of light becomes us
shaken walls
and churned up brine
and mustard seeds
these mustard seeds that
wrinkle small
and bloom eternal without
being asked or told
or a metaphor for something
new or old or you or me
a prophecy in all its faulty
humanness
not exactly untrue
the oracle solely huffs
the smoke as if to smolder it
not exactly unruly
rather a smoke made
too often of bare truncated moments
caught by rays of black and gold
suspended in the muntin
when the leaves were still
i.iii. smoke
when the leaves are still on the ground
and instead of frolic we shuddered shamble
shuffle amble saunter in a circle all about time
to wake the night with pulled tight membranes thrummed
and show the sun back into ruly orbit
that pinch of time-sick breeze that weaves through down and skins
to ashen dais in the long nights and the weird dawns and the yawing
of the world the furling of our days as we accept our fate
the slowing umbral knowing in our bones
chalky white and strong not broken charcoal
resting in the soot of a feast to celebrate the solstice
still meandering for now
still thrummed against our pulled-tight membranes
as the tilt shifts ever slightly in our favor
jacob wolos 