ALL ACCOUNTS AND MIXTURE: Poetry by Patrick Samuel

field that is tongues

mostly guttural in pipe whines how rarely folds brain out my skull, sap instantly antiquing… I ended up eating some eggs that yelped when lifted. A great TV tomb gabs blind that night. Chain through slit; vodka in milk. I’m related to a famous train robber through marriage (the boardwalk attracts mostly foreigners or is a place to kiss); either one’s loud. Pump soap down and not wind racketing back through. For curdle, cups in waterare ships so survivors gather on the hull before drowning soap from my hair. It was nice, for them to do that— I’d been sour all day.


Patrick Samuel lives in Chicago, where he received his MFA from Columbia College.  He stays active in the community by co-curating a local reading/performance series called The Swell.  His most recent work appears or is forthcoming in Bloom, Gertrude, LEVELER and The Corduroy Mtn.