Sean Zhuraw  

Sean Zhuraw’s poetry has appeared in Foothill, Tin House, Boston Review, The Columbia Review, Handsome, and Jerry. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop where he won the 2012 John Logan poetry prize judged by Donald Revel and where he currently teaches a class on The Sentence. He will offer you a snack. He’s originally from Philadelphia. 



The Network Rendezvous

Prayer Before a Pond of Soup






I think what I want yon rabbit wants me

To think, on account the sky 

Walks casually our runaways, & all the buffet 

Is longing for five minutes less 

Of loved eyes so like roots to attention 

The stars are / the stars collapsed 

To think that dust rug is between 

Soul which is the animal / sometimes that 

It does not reoccur: the dead in / the 

Living removed, narrowed by following 

W eyes the root’s marble / them, leaves what I want

& a corner after need is the shape no one in 

Need is / rather if I could 

Say mother becomes night said the dead

Pie, the vatic common / love cannot research 






The eyes don’t wait. They pretend

they count to zero white seconds 

in an urn dissolved. More patient 

to kiss on. The mouth open where 

exchange, its parody its current 

death, insists never the. Same of credit.

How romantic I can be if 

Unheard. To play on that unreturned 

lawn that dazzles no out: 

of sitting down you. & I know.

Our eyes only do the books. Long wind, 

pretend to your center that it is eyed too. 

Come, rumors gaudy on the breath, critters 

bigger than their paws, & wanton earth wares,

if we do not part now we have already. 


The Network Rendezvous

The Network Rendezvous

The Network Rendezvous 


You don’t much speak lo / if I told you if 
A room / as in a room where for small screen
Attempt remotes the exult and stays, we think,

The last scene released from vaporous seven 
Fold / the last of the night defined project 
Or in form another voice / a choice as if in 

From this exchange you / had one. Rapt 
Is the incarnate air under focus of the double 
Split screen cross / of perception / your dept. 

If I am aware of / an influence of / the middle
Back to to turn to / rest the shawl wrapped around
The poor warmth / the American body syllable 
To here I forget you, if this is airspeak or wound 
From the rendezvous / returnable verge of beginning to think 
It real if ever / I have told / you never before one

Would I ask of you that, letterhead. Turn down / shame 
Off / louder talk. We know the air
An unfit take. Neither am I god than being 

Here is not enough and not exactly appearing  
Is next, ours, or even the starting to channel 
Tomorrow talk / at the regular Monday meeting 

Where, when eyes circuit the room to cast / read 
The difference in us allows the / at home / lively footage
Of entering every day and again, and with one. 


Prayer Before a Pond of Soup

Prayer Before a Pond of Soup

Prayer Before a Pond of Soup


I, ill, lie, full / from care the matches speak 
With it is how I think it / wants to — serrated — keep 

Quick / keep and drink, drink and turn / right and end 

Ocean upon the outro. Curdles of sponge, tentacle,
Krill that wonders in the seastar’s mouth. Hell, I’m in there too,

In the fluffier part, landed, call us vertical water, smudge 

And dense /  self-pollinated ileum. Se 
Mirar, worm tube. Our dialogue, a cough / a desert of

Outtakes in the rearview / the chore my god
That one grain of sand should bury me in

Fertilizer. My own affairs? I, file clerk for Xolotl’s 
Dreams, fashion the office scraps and free copies.

Call me a one-man-bandage. Skin drum, bone keys.

Bowed locks limb the vins, / and the keys, 
And the skin drum, the pitch resin pine-rasped, drip

And fold, the horn, a ram’s—at the bend of a knee
I body the shadow. The one that herms in the ear.

Your day, slowly, 
More or less your boredom. Or. My question is is this word

Of the mouth of it? No water here, let us through 

To your never / visible and intelligible silent measure, 

A series to of surfaces that you are the packaging 

About / but not of / water the water becomes 

On the flash screen as you are is not 
Any. And too I contract like the iris in a fist 

Of stone / to praise and make your rule / which by the way 

In the pit, the vegetal incentive / head-on reels

Your same water, row twenty-three record 

Now from where the light broke—it it wants to 
Without and with without pause. All punchy curtains 

Without the thesis / all wall of whiskey properer—
Honk bladder, worm tube, bellows distance between: while the right hand 

Knows not the left’s doing—it wonders the skin drum,

As if I offered / / 
Unfit flee. Again, hear him senses / cannot be created or destroyed only 

Change. A word,
When all today I made an apple core.