I saw her in the moonlight: a performer of bedtime rite

she, was, in fact, a child of the night

artemis’ secret acolyte

she hunts the clouds with uncanny grace

it is if not a faithful chase -

her untamed pilgrimage to space

once there, she commences to croon

making holes in the moon with a silvery spoon

singing softly to a foreign tune

and as she leaves she litters stars

lighting the sky like cigarette burns, leaving scars

memoirs of her reverie

reflect in my fanatic memory

By Katie Goldstein

Yesterday, I went to the beach

It was foggy,

The kind of day where sea meets sand

And they discover they’re long-lost cousins

Still, I walked the line

Of sea and shore

And let the waves wash the sand

From between my toes

I collected so many shells

And rocks

That my pockets sung to me as I stepped:

The song of the sea, and me

Later, I showed a friend my saltwater plunder

And they asked me

What I would do with such treasure

A good question

For which I have no answer

Except, maybe, this poem


I should like to spin forever

and ever

Doesn’t matter the direction

Just that the wind hits my face like a surprise

Feels so good when I’m in it

Dizzy when I’m done

or, a year over in but a moment

I’m sitting in between two black polyester curtains in a CVS somewhere east of New York

Staring at a 4 x 6 card with my name on it

In soft blue pen

I haven’t stared at a non-screen in so long


By Katie Goldstein

The clock says 10, but once I land

It now says 9 once again

While I tell time, will it tell me

What I have lost

From what I’ve gained

And do I want to know?

By Katie Goldstein

I am me

and you are you

But — couldn’t we

be two?

While I’ve no clue

what we will do

you, the key

my heart, the lock — see?

So: let’s set sail

in this world of infinite gale

It would be

an incredible adventure

wouldn’t it be nice if life were nonsense

no sense in making any, say its so:

meaning’d be meaning, less our thoughts and worries

nothing at the end or the before

everything absurd and light and funny

nothing to say or be sorry for

but —

if life were all endless disconnected beauty

how would we remember all that we have done, and all we have yet to do

this, that, logic, reason,

hope, fear, love, treason

for all that is and all that were

and all there is to be

sense is nice, a principled paradise

for our memories

If I could choose

how many moons in the sky

there were

I’d pick two

so they’d always

have each other

for company

A poem about my favorite word

A dearth is a hole of dirt: a lack, a scarcity, of some thing

A hearth with no home

Wind with no whisper

Like death in a graveyard: omnipresent and so impossible to ignore

A thought just remembered, then forgotten

Tomato potato

A combo you know

Tomato potato

Towards the ground they grow low

Tomato potato

Mashed and sliced: status quo

Tomato potato

Hot! On them you will blow

Tomato potato

Dip it in, won’t you, though?

Tomato potato

Together they go

Tomato potato

In your mouth, no?

Katie Goldstein

Perpetual student, unsolicited advice-giver, lover of Japanese toilets

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