I’ve never dreamed of flying
Last night my husband
dreamt he was teaching me to fly
He instructed, “Not too high
like Icarus or too low”
Come float with me
We flew over a cornfield
I said, “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
We saw Selu rubbing her belly
Read more "After Forty Years"
planting her own heart so we
would be satisfied.
your diaphanous virgins
your horse and bull stories
your rites of spring
I can do
very well thank you
Read more "You Can Keep"
wishbone and your big
cigar your mighty Stetson and
guitar I know
how to please my
self how to saddle
my own steed.
I don’t know what to expect
Read more "When the End is Near"
because I never died before.
Maybe I will be greeted by
A pair of blue unicorns or
a rainbow and a waterfall
or colorful birds singing my
favorite tunes or I might see
a night sky filled with stars
I once saw on a summer night,
only now I will finally get to see
the man in the moon releasing
all those silvery shooting stars.
I live in the lavender gut of a horse, a beating heart just beyond the wall. And beyond that two old ladies sip tea on a white porch in the crabapple South, hoping for something that might squirrel up out of the ground, the age-old ground, the Southern ground, the ground at the top of a hill: a thin line of angels listening all boneless and hospitable from above, managing nothing with their tiny, modest, angel hands, hands that might just as well be days of the week. The long-gone Civil War is wearing a small red-and-gold cap once worn by an organ grinder’s monkey.
Read more "A Clandesence of Angels"
She stood in the front
Of the silver and black glass counter.
Her fingers ransacked the perfume,
Stone skin reflecting in the onslaught
Of mirrored ads and a solo saleswoman –
Ms. Fake Green Eyes was fond
Of a particular smell called Trauma or Mercy,
Some obscure name meant
To bore temptation like eggs from an roc’s nest.
Fake Eyes presses down on the black and gold
Read more "Mr. and Mrs. Medusa at the Macy’s Perfume Counter"
Spray top, a mist pours down onto my wife’s wrist,
The aftershock of a coastal storm – two presumed lost.
The sunset is made of gold. It is
made of gold, the sunset, this sunset.
It is made of gold—pure gold spills down the mountainside
and I kneel before the mountainside’s golden
Kneel on the stone and burn this image into my forsaken
Read more "The Cup of Trembling"
brain, sear gold onto my retinas, behind its sackcloth
consciousness (made of gold, it is made
of pure gold—this sunset—made of, made of, made of the quintessent
February morning I face the brittle air
Read more "Backyard Bird Counting"
checklist in mittened hand
two male Dark-eyed Juncos
one Northern Cardinal, male
a flock of Black-eyed Chickadees.
I estimate forty
mindful of the growing dawn.
Seventy languages heard
Read more "Broadcast"
in the bazaar of Dioscurias,
today’s tower of Babel
streaming terrible news.
Spleens vented and faux miracle cures,
the process a disembodied entity.
A dunce in his dark corner,
pulling out a plum.
Tales of the demi-demon’s hellfire.
The annals of blah.
When fear and ignorance wed
the fools’ opinion bred.
Affirmation #207 This is the time When you understand That no one is coming. There is no horse in the distance. No woman dressed like she’s in a mystery novel, lurking in the final train car, about to turn your life into a hero’s journey with an ash of her cigarette. This is also the […]
Read more "Affirmation #207"
Below is Part 9 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 8: Holding Patterns: Dowries Lateral dots et alia, I ditch anterior peruke, reconfigure dorsal ballast, and streamline for cultural pursuits as sleuth Dot Motley, Esq. Suited in dated sharkskin, I minimize drag and launch forward in full […]
Read more "The Jill Hill | Deep Nectar: Rendezvous"