queenhrosie

Hey guys!  I have a new chapbook out.  You can either sign up for a Rattle subscription and get a copy with the subscription OR buy the book individually here: www.rattle.com/chapbooks/kill-…

I also have a shit ton of contributor copies and will be doing a package deal directly from me very soon (or if you want to message me and wrangle a deal with my other books, feel free!)

I love you and I miss you all!

www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1941462…


MY newest book has released!


Please support me and I will sing your eulogies!  I will perfume you while you sleep!  I will love you forever on a planet one million miles away!



ALSO please share the link!  I know I suck about engaging with everyone anymore  but you all are my first loves, my baby kittens, my furious plums.



I miss you and this is my gift.

I obviously suck at updating anything ever on here but the preorder of my 5th book "A Horse Made Of Fire" is available for preorder (AND CURRENTLY ON SALE BUT NOT FOR MUCH LONGER) here: www.cobaltreview.com/product/a…

THIS IS GOING TO BE AMAZING.  My fourth book is still available but there's only about ten copies left (oh NO).

5% of the proceeds to my book goes to COPS ( www.nationalcops.org/ ) as well (charity is of my choosing).  PLEASE SUPPORT ME?  I'm mildly competitive and I want to destroy all authors with insane amounts of preorders.  I STILL WUV YOU GUYS (and anyone is welcome to friend me on Facebook!! ). WUV, H.

Your Brain by Jessy Randall
       
Your brain is two little girls who talk all day
while you spin film in reels with the very same arms
that went so well around me when you were fourteen
in the entranceway of my house with the cats meowing
and you and I kissing kissing forever and the stars
falling all around in the middle of the day and time
speeding up and throwing us against the future like
the round-up at the fair we take
our feet off the ground and we are there,
the place where the little girls of your brain
start digging into the glowing cantaloupe of my soul with
huge round spoons, licking their lips and gasping
with delight and deliciousness.

.

I really hate it when I finally see a photo of a poet and they look so average.  Like, they've never been setting fox traps all afternoon.  Or tanning hides.  Or crying through the blood, but it makes them feel triumphant.

I hate it when I see a photograph of a poet and they look like accountants.  I hate that.  I hope they have, maybe, some deformity that I'm not seeing in such a stupid photograph, gray sky behind them like a elementary school class photo.  I am very disappointed in how people look, some of them have normal haircuts.  Some people look like they regularly get manicures and I imagine their fingers typing poems and all of a sudden I hate these poems because they feel like lies or just crafty ways to disguise how boring a person can be.

.

So here's some stuff:

In the new issue of LOOM:  loomzine.org/store.html
In the newest Mas Tequila Review: www.amazon.com/The-Mas-Tequila…
In the newest issue of Loose Change: www.loosechangemagazine.org/
Got Highly Recommended in the Cha Betrayal Contest: asiancha.blogspot.com/2013/02/…


AND MOST IMPORTANTLY:

My FIRST book is now available on Amazon for KINDLE for ONLY $2.99!!!  SO BUY IT!:


Nothing Unrequited Here



AND AS ALWAYS BUY MY FOURTH BOOK BEFORE IT'S GONE (BECAUSE I HAVE NO BOOKS WHATSOEVER TO SELL AFTERWARD AND THEY'RE ALMOST SOLD OUT!): anhingamagazine.blogspot.com/2…




I suck at updating dA lately
(i'm 38 weeks pregnant sooooo I'm using that as an excuse for my excessive laziness!) so feel free to send me a note about friending me on Facebook because I do regularly post and update on there!)

When Menthol Was Queen by LESLIE ADRIENNE MILLER

No blue beckons so much as chlorine blue,
bottom of the pool blue, faintly bearing the faces
of flushed mothers, astringent partner to rubber loungers
welded to the backs of the knees in seconds.

We of the inland summers crave only this blue,
this gorgeous replica doubled and rocking
beneath even a fierce sky. Now we know
what they were doing when they raced away

in their hot bucket seats, our mothers, craving
a smoke on the patio, the long coil of phone cord
caught in a screen door. Fuchsia Jell-O and orange shag
nothing to the long gash of turquoise

to which they delivered us. And thirty years
before we even wondered where they went or why.
The satisfaction of an entire knotty-pine kitchen
scrubbed in Liquid Gold only lasts so long,

and cans of pillow mint green meant to cover
every inch of the garage yield up only enough
bright toxin for a season, beyond which we
of the bar codes, box stores, and breast pumps

are expected to proceed differently. And do,
though the arrow will eventually find us too,
bring us back to the blue wedge from which
we can finally see her huddled in the cove

between spruces out back where her smoke rises
into the cool prickle and pucker, delivering her
from each fierce escape she can imagine,
all her fancy, hanker, and aim in blue dissolve.



.

SOME THINGS:

INTERVIEWED HERE: www.writersdigest.com/whats-ne…

WORK IS HERE:

dailydoseoflit.com/2013/01/01/…

AND

www.scissorsandspackle.com/arc…

AND FORTHCOMING IN A FEW PLACES THAT I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT WHEN IT IS RELEVANT.  HURRAH.

If you have any questions/anything, note me or find me on Facebook.

AND HEY:

THIS IS STILL FOR SALE BUT I AM RUNNING LOW ON COPIES (HURRAH) SO BUY WHILE YOU STILL CAN -

anhingamagazine.blogspot.com/2…