JOSHUA MARIE WILKINSON


POEM FOR A DISTILLERY

Alterity’s white tease
spittoon if you could
wallop us back to
the Lexington courthouse
but you can’t – we
stalk on, ungrowing,
or driven to account for
a history we’re deposited from.

See where the metaphors fail
where failure’s use marks
a shatterable window.

Animals get into the distillery
just fine.  A barrel fire.
A creek blocked for angels.
A snow dream.  Will you
come to bed with me?
 
 
 
 
POEM FOR BHANU KAPIL

You & Laloo climb into
a clapboard tent moon
brimmed as a rind,
water at the heart of
a cantaloupe leaching
it backwards.

A forest finds an edge
alright.  & the road is
sort of a bullwhip here.
I know the things I’ve
kept myself from
through your guide’s
guide.

Starry blight below us
chartering.

I want to slow this
ride down to a perverse
speed & get the
haunted off.  You
find a song & call
its words out like
an organ sack.  Drop
your belongings like
faulty landing gear.

The bottom plating of
the vehicle torn
clean off over what it
sped above.

That’s the sound, Laloo.
What the mountain crag
spirits to the birds at the sky’s
little bastard door.

The noise is a crusher.
I am along about the wires
under a plan to take the calls
& not pick up.
 
 
 
 



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