NYMPH by Denise Jarrott (pre-order)


NYMPH by Denise Jarrott (pre-order)


Poetry. 96 pages. Scheduled for release April 14, 2018.

Ethereal, ephemeral, and utterly macabre, Denise Jarrott's poetry examines the less illuminated nuances of sexuality and animal instinct, conjuring a nymph who defies the myth of object and acts as a guide.





away, away, then

            under the arches thy lady


sleeps with monsters, among

            monsters she does sleep under


garlands she does weep.         there is ink on your hands (get the story straight)

                                                how did it get there what it was on your hands gripping the doorframe the arches


do not trust the innocent                    do not trust the open


door for the queen


of the neighborhood dwells therein.


{isn’t it strange though how Theresa Hak Kyung Cha died in that building with the ridiculous gold baby in the top hat how I laughed at how absurd standing on its little peanut like an idiot but maybe I should know better not to point anymore because people always look. She was just trying to meet her husband there who was documenting the renovation what if I was just headed down the street for a pack of cigarettes maybe something to eat what if I had been meeting you for a drink what if I never came home                and she was in love, life was slowly hanging together what if I don’t want to come in}









leave enough room for the nymph to enter in if she so desires to


enter if you are harmed it is not god but


something like a god less innocent but appears to be like a child, small


as a coin, sometimes


takes the form of a tree and will enter


through the walls it will sometimes appear to be a sweet faced boy, neighbor


asking for sugar, salty


corner store owner, proprietor


of the local hardware store                 anymore, I do not stand


still, for the forest is full of eyes




when a structure is innocent is before

it welcomes in its first guests.            o dear, o sweet one

where did you go                    on this night when a storm is so near, little

one where did you go

with ink all over your hands with

tar on your feet shouldn’t you be meeting someone somewhere







                        how do you know if who you’re meeting will end up ending

                        you how do you





the door to the building is tall and heavy, very narrow

            black as ink outside the window of my room is a tree

full of bats and of catbirds

bathing in the dust of beetles

in their mouths                      



{I was in the bar with Melissa when we saw that cockroaches can fly I did not know they could it chooses to land at absolute random black or red it makes no difference. My fingers stained with red ink, with all the faulty ways we open ourselves all the things I haven’t learned to avoid. The cockroach came in from somewhere a crack in the beams how is it that we are never inside of anywhere not really we sat by some boys they didn’t really talk to us I was grateful for that but how horrible I saw a cockroach the night before something crawling in the dark of my doorway}




the worst is how they justify going where they don’t belong. being nowhere when they’re supposed to be somewhere. I was told that a demon will enter a human body

when it is emotionally vulnerable, when it is most open but also when does G-d enter and should you walk down a busy street in tears people will approach you ask if you’re ok what if you are having sex and just start crying you’re already open and o gentle puck you are fucking with the housewives the hags the village girls is there nothing that will

deter you                     with sap on your hands smelling of sweet going where you


were not invited, away

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