Drawn to the Light Press Issue 6

Rapt i.

Feet planted on broken membranes of plastic, I look at the flight-lines of the jackdaws and the airplanes bending–– newly trained to a stand-still true, that is the idea of you. ii.

This is not the first time one person’s weight has climbed me and I’ve felt tempted to show the marks made by your teeth as signature for officials–– forgetting business deeply.

Again, that boy with the quiver is to blame & his mother standing behind him in wet clothes–– genital-loving goddess, as you’ve been called. iii.

Hauling my stiff self to the slope of your stomach, as the 8am moon implies precincts where they woo: fairy moods fully healed from the clockwork.

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