Kylan

But your voice is not soft and low like fog. It has taken the shape of a poem, which is one of the most erectile, vigorously indigestible and self-absorbed mediums ...

hosanna no one blesses anymore— it is difficult to find a person willing to stretch forth their hand as if to a surface they surmise to be hot and pronounce ...

fight or flight to be watched by deer is to be warmed by velum rubbed from antlers. i mirror stillness, and also streams cleaving through rock like lodes, claims. the ...

hotline one. go to the korean market and lift a jackfruit. they will all be rotting somewhat, weeping to be carried, rolling and unappealing as guerrilla hills. the pacing man ...

firefighter the dark is a barn-raising— horses scatter brightly like early thermal weapons, careening toward hay thatch. flame burls, burgles through windows moon drags off of trees, hits the canopy

posture i slouch like the night you can't quite quit cold turkey. my spine humbugs i am fetal as a summer-floored ditch a frond's self-pity an inch's lynch, the gravitas ...

abdicated full moon big , full moon young lunations, fluctuating like the new color planned for the family room—york harbor yellow, raisin torte, old pickup blue. the apogee of a ...

thee, thine (an ode to Uzzah's faith) i reach out a hand to steady the ark thus touching the doted ochre of unprotected sex the possum slouch of a joint ...

Many thanks Blackbird -- you might find these in the same vein. -- sacred steel thuds in your brain like a competition to lay rail i feel the brace of ...

hard passing through the shoulder a bullet into barn wood where it lodges a complaint about wrists, finely tamping bones—barometric skewer here where there might be dances and stored hay ...

Thank you, Kamas! mouth to mouth for jared the day attempts to pronounce a killdeer with a pebble for every degree under its tongue—i tend the lawn with ringlets of ...

naming the storm she clips nautical miles like the wings of domestic birds and their oval tithe. curling into the red noose of a false gypsy under the meteorologist's godly ...

roadkill the ceased sine of two gray squirrels, ducklings soft as kisses on a Kodachrome, flung in a line by the creek lip the tabby cat at four in the ...

Carnivorous vulgaris The physics are all wrong, of course—the anvil trajectories, dead stops, tonnage and miracle of careening newton meters. The rocket-powered shoes skating like the pinched heads

boy scouts squaw lake rises a few feet this year, thus bluer and more prone to host drownings. the coldness seizes my chest like a gory premonition and we make ...