Fall 2011, Volume 11

Poetry by Anton Frost


a bell is bottomless.
it goes on and on.
i don't know.  i look at your legs
and think about drowning.  it's not about what
i want to do, it's what
i feel is being done.

i am watching your fingers.
your body
is a whole.
the shattered atmosphere
exists. flagrant hips,
the sense of smell.
it moves under
fragments of light.
i unfold, watching an unfolding.

there is pain in drowning
you have told me
your secret.

holding on
to almost

thank you.
i could kiss you.
i could breathe
it aches
not to.


the center of the universe
is far away

and my heart
is a countryside of roots.

the moon is a bread-crumb
as the sky
turns to nothing.

i can hear the drumming
of water falling
onto rock,

i hear something
like a pulse
in the open cupboard.

my head
is a closed space.
it is an
occupied shell.

is like
watching a woman
from a distance
walking both toward me
  and away from me.

it occurs
it is hard
to remember.

between days
and only sometimes
we remember we
more than
just memories.

my cupboards are empty
shells, repeating
the pulse of my ears.

my heart
is a diorama
of a universe
that is all center.

it is your silhouette;
it is me trying to decide
if you're walking toward me
or away from me.




BIO: Anton Frost is a poet living in Grand Haven, Michigan.