"Profices" by Jane Gregory

COMPANY EDITIONS is an independent publisher of poetry and visual art. The journal, Company, was founded in 2013 and is published three or four times per year. We will also be publishing chapbooks beginning in late 2016. Company Editions is based in Athens, GA, Iowa City, IA, and Cambridge, MA. You can contact the editors by emailing editors@companyeditions.com.







That it goes from all

shall be well to oh



Knock knock


Everything is a pattern

of yesses and no









Now is only not otherwise

& sobriety is death          for the moon

is a licked wound,

the glimmering innards

of a ripped whale &

obscures the world’s terrific exit









Obscured, the world’s terrific



I want to thank what is clear

for the grimness, what the

future’s retrojection bore a hole right through,

the .commune where/as it currently stands









And what


The moon thus shed

its singleness

as if it were real and behold: 

The world’s terrific









Why do I need my ideas validated for me

            the index of prophecy is light

So that I understand

            the world with all its signatures visible


Light, icicles, feces, profit


                                                Of the world

Was made


And then its exit










I understand where all this is going

so nothing I anticipate happens

except to what it happens upon.


Everything takes great effort

though I am more

and worse than a coupon.


For what will you go to this?

For what shall you like it? 









For what we are is each their users

and what else

not to be overcome










Though there must be a bad vortex—

said everyone’s where they find themselves—

since everything

Since every know thing
only occurs to me each thing occurs
not to overcome what is else but

Hey      Everything

takes great effort









I roll I roll I roll yr eyes

as Friday complies

though I am not following





What of it stop it





Though I am not following or what of it stops









What if it stops? 


Whelm the field—

Whelp it


Whelm the field

Yr face ok’d

My shame & by it



Help it






Driven to no tone









what is all that shit

you have

figured out


credit-lapse  time-score
vice versa
terminus w/o drive

Water strung out on the stones,
wind wrung you are rising








Neither put forth

as a specific soldier My face


surprised / by the hand that put

something in him



My mouth surprised by the hand that put



This way it won’t be for very long


Not for much

will the flayed be

sucked up thru a straw


Not for much longer



Whther or not I have a sense of it, young history, I hate it.






The day felt it was an event.


The last is only

imaginary but there is speed

without your time. 









Their ill to believe everything issues

from flesh the bells dry bones the wind

breath fouled by the corners

of their mouth where they keep

how she feels about herself. 









Soon it would be less easy

for him to contain

what they aren’t in what he said.



Survivre, the sun

soon allied to the wound,

the word to the gesture

the living conceal, the living

conceals the end it protects










I shall come to rest

in the crotch of the tree


Jesus thought of God

as I the Internet

because i know myself God

cannot be a man you guys

and what else not

everything takes great effort right

and is in my nature

to be wrong and redeemy

even wrong about lord somebody

else’s most fundamental beliefs

so i’ve given up

all your gentleness for you try hard

to take it back, for when the dead

equal all created and the archive

lives for itself and on what decays

the map of decay, and though

all my feelings just go about and like

I just cannot or it is too early to try

to feel anymore how it is so late

or simply I am that way, weird,

how things seem ways,

how some pleasures are not good for you,



Jane Gregory is from Tucson and now lives in California. Her first book, My Enemies, was published by The Song Cave.