poetry

The Most Daily Feeling

A poem from Rosie Stockton.

Sam Cockrell, 6/7/23, All Creatures Great and Small, 2025.

Photo: Kunning Huang

Dispersal


[]

value packs everywhere
declutter this immovable lease

I love to degrade my warring self
outclassed & dragged nasty into view
renegade humiliation
the portrait of a betrayal

I waltz borrowed after borrowed form
slam recyclables in the trash
crash efficiency off the balcony
a true Leveller, luddite core

today I slow down
time and plant gold to dig, cancel future,
check my views, look for you

it’s chore day & I boil your packer
melting your biggest lack
unstuffed and sorry, the scams
you inspire in me, tidy and daddy

I wake you asking do you think we really
exist today? humming undust me

I kiss your yawn
agape or asleep, I got free
fall

we get along so great
but you throw away what I’d keep forever

deep dive to a sudden
crevice, how you scrump the edges
low hanging possession
so intricately ours
unlike all this private fucking
property, where maggots make soil,

rats scamper on the newly built fence
hoarding bursting fruit

that I don’t pick, I simply suck
what’s growing on the branch


[]

like a line that doesn’t Regulate
I edge commonly
our verge retrieved the most daily feeling
your Orbit dragged me

picnicked in my
altitude

defining joints, I explore abrupt logic
to faster’s limit a supporting support

where no law begins to say
my wish I was

consider a layer’s flux Expression —

that’s my wavelength
flaunting my freedom threshold

tide line thinner based enough to lift math
to eliminate this halo fade

too thin to support
even every boundary

a glow
that ignores surface light

sitting here with you, I thought
why not accept the hurdle

float a lifted constitution

place myself kindly
in your slow gravity


[]

now they are trading

water futures, I speculate

the cost of my piss

and wait for the price

of gauged luxury air

markets to freshen the

space between my breath

and your breeze, where

there is all this subprime

business. O to be part

of no such thing feeling,

a partial eviction,

prefix menu of how loss

is in me, a tier 2 user,

playing boxcar to be

a grad of droughted alone

I save your plants my recycled bath

water, souped up dirt, dipping

in my trade, me in your

gym day, blowing our grip

on any averaged catalyst


[]

the rock is permeable. most rock
except when it’s pushed to the limit.
erosion trips the sun dial to an amount
only the Law can measure, as if the future
could be accounted for with numbers that stay
on their side of the bed.

even though I was older, I always thought
you were. I looked to you for answers like
what if there is beauty, and you aren’t there
to receive it? define heaping. just before it begins
to hurt. if I evaluate you within a degree of perfection,
will that prove my love?

so I began to claw
at paving stones. stardust slams
our present. Velocity. take the city apart.
Velocity. you are good at controlling
the pace at which the horizon arrives.

you are willing to walk away,
which makes you closer to me
than I am. when you clock my compulsion
it’s in the palm of your hand. like a busted
lock, the phone is ringing. Velocity.

despair makes a hero out of me, so I get
busy, fly around an untangled sun, up
End my-self, donate my organs to the poets.

earth creaks blatantly, asking
for help. hands crumbling, sprinting
surfaces. Velocity. once you lap me,
I can finally let you. it used to be
much simpler. ♦

Excerpted from FUEL by Rosie Stockton. Published by Nightboat Books. Copyright © 2025 by Rosie Stockton. All rights reserved.

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