“and who she is and he/are templates”
LISA FISHMAN
Refined: zygote wood becomes chair or trinket. Limbs
for forging. Flip a sea toward the dry
and stash away switchblades waves corrupt the sea with
was her suggestion. Pesos like moats divided them from things.
They want to cop a field as must wind through wheat
that arrests sheaths from it. Upheaval: how they cope with feel-
ing. Refined as articulation, she. So it would mean something to hinder
her getting. What she got at with him: the artfulness
of martyrdom is the tear delivery that will pattern a sword
down the cheek of a face. There are other cheeks.
Kept in check. That one can pull something useful from the body
that the body delivers itself. Come, lulling avadavat,
come, goose-struck air made suspect by giving.
********
“and who she is and he/are templates”
LISA FISHMAN
A hand opened the song-eaten bug slyly
to filch lamentation. Post-fugue,
spreading mercy out like felt dresses that digress through taper,
his and her guests tape wings to wink-space
paced by stare and share volumes of videos videoed for sharing:
A hairpin marries a uterus and the vow is what comes out;
An error mars the tool’s toil with a wrecking ball, bombastic king
of bringing it down. This is how they explain
their retreat if
reaction is urgent and urged
by a surge in viewing what is stashed in the file entitled Nigh.
Cough, and again. Cough, an adage: this rose-mimicked instance of
to leave, without truly. All those pails that trump experience
through rust. And his and her own resuscitation flavored by rest
addressed as Pause or, more formally, Away.
Kristi Maxwell currently lives in Cincinnati. She is the author of Hush Sessions (Saturnalia Books, 2009), Realm Sixty-four (Ahsahta Press, 2008), and Elsewhere & Wise (Dancing Girl Press, 2008).