"Prairies" by Natalie Knight

samuel huntington he can’t put his finger on it, nor can it rain nor can he voice it nor can a sound but the clause asserts, until. i am moving back in impermanence and would like not to leave importance in the trunk false start, kachunk hiccup, false parting. who are you lonely stranger who are publicly calling and writing to everyone i was once guilty of truth that imperfect inadequate noun; i feigned allegiance with another sort of tautology i feigned interest in nonexisting like it was a mass to attend but i’m back thick headed morally asundered really ready for confrontation of hemispheres sweet samuel huntington sweet prose doctor, come back in my life write 49 chapters of 49 months since we consummated like children happy birthday. i’ll lick you there voraciously even if you like it. ravage plumage spring’s male birds calling out again, and we are sitting down for brunch with an incomplete circle, unformed clause, and desire or reverence. madison waiting up on a hill or at the end of moving trains stoically divorcer. madison entails plumage and flying on smokestacks i should give you wallace s. before we commence brunch ashes and berries are never quite removable stains from our tablecloth. if you flip through the pages of my notebook only untold secrets