Chronicle of Lost Moments
by Lara Dolphin
21 poems ~ 35 pages
Price: $8.00 ~ tax included
Publisher: Dancing Girl Press
To Order: Dancing Girl Press And Studio


With Chronicle Of Lost Moments, the writer’s second chapbook, Lara Dolphin puts forward a searching collection of poems on the little somethings that signify a life. 


With one eye full of love, and one eye wary of life's dangers, these poems peer into “this crude thing we call existence” where “there is room enough here for us all,” all the while whispering to you confessions that they really shouldn’t be admitting to. If intelligence is, as F. Scott Fitzgerald said, the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time, then Dolphin shows us the shackles and ridiculousness of modern life one must protest against, while reveling in the small miracles that we should all cherish.
–Colin Dardis, author of All This Light In Which To See The Dead: Pandemic Journals 2020-21

Lara's poetry is quick "flash" storytelling that sinks into my skin because it is full of "the small truths we tell ourselves". When I put this book down I may find myself thinking I have just read one of those "miraculous" poets "who changed my life forever." And that's a good thing.
–r soos, author of during the music


A native of Pennsylvania, Lara Dolphin is an attorney, nurse, wife and mom of four amazing kids. She frequently wonders where the time has gone. Her poems are widely published in print and online. Her first chapbook, In Search Of The Wondrous Whole, was published by Alien Buddha Press.


“Daily I Fall Out Of Love With Investment Bankers”

by Lara Dolphin
after Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses by Elliot Fried

Daily I fall out of love with investment bankers
with their vanity license plates
and fat rubber tires.
I hate how they bend over numbers
massaging their internal models.
Their hand-tailored Italian suits jockey behind Chinese walls
like ginned up bulls
hang around the financial district–
shards of broken dreams.
I feel their hard money
primed with a steady stream of funds
slide over me.
Their hands lithe and subtle
keep moving so …
misdirecting and pilfering so unnoticeably
that I am left insensible, defenseless.
Daily I fall out of love with investment bankers
with their scheming quant buddies.
They sell secrets in the backroom
and I want them.
I don’t know them.
They tranche securities
their legs triple-A-rated prime.
They have spouses or lovers or hookers or all.
They are off-balance-sheet smug–
they know how naked credit default swaps work.
Their unnaturally white smiles
distract you from the fine print.
Daily I fall out of love with investment bankers
They buy you steak and get you drunk
but they never see you safely home
as they take the money and run run run.

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