Wednesday, October 04, 2017


We are mirrors holding up the sky. You are watching,
you are holding me.
Inside is a wolf running across the ice.

                                                                  —Cassie Lewis

Ha, nah, brawn ka?
He looks at it. He thinks
about it. But he cannot

say it. Ice age rivulets.
Torpedoes dun as burghers
aim for the rhapsody of

dust above the plains
above the docks above
the ice caps amid

screaming rockers. Arch-
nemeses. Amanuenses. A
man you insist you trust-

ed in terms of agelessness
makes meatballs potatoes (the
cow having already been fatted).