by Jessica Wickens
Crow - sounds like The World We Don’t Live In
from this view/ doesn't everything?
my vigilance betrays me
insect love is not fair or fathomable
the light is constant
is this the rudest chorus? the tabernacle
shifts on its sand.
homesick for the unknown.
phosphorous/ doctors send their news
by pony. oh how we ache for both
/all the new and the old.
Crow - we have to ask, eventually will these matters matter - marsupial, the man-horse-hay, chocolate egg, idolatry, beach ball, dribbling into sanity w/o sense for love or quality, maybe. under chin to paw. drooling on one's tail, for instance. it's the same but easier, finally, to joke in the locker room. muffle these lights in silence. for now, our orbits are strong. lazy mouth, miracle canyon, let's ride.
imagine the world
singing from the balcony
if this cannot be done
simply find a way out of the box
I merely know but I have many
songs, by slow stages I build
nests of neckties
my heart shuffles and i dream they
already know me well
earth tips toward water
the perfect ending remade with hot flour and water
where has the door gone
what fond farewell of lipstick and rye could cast a shadow there?
I try so hard to resist
these riddles but Crow
teaching dies slow and stubborn
shall I speak to you in hymn, chant and prayer
or infant babble
my visual brain's all worked up, popping,
you're better off just plugging in than to chase the fresh air