SAP

Not a blown kiss:

cigarette drag.

Not a cigarette:

exploding icicle.

I take first watch (tick).

Paint myself

into a corner then move

to the walls. 

It's full fathom five

below.  Breath of autumn air

stuck twixt two winter

panes.  Autumn

behind the eyes.

I sing: I bend to the

hard bead of sap

and breathe.

REPLY

Singe here.

Self-clean, as in, to burn.

Undetectable repairs

the mechanic swears by.

Regrets only

by the phone number.

It is a love letter

because I receive it.

A love letter

but only I can see it.

Syllogism: Autumn smells

like apples.  My hands smell

like woodsmoke/street

ball/leaves. 

My hands must be apples.

lauren haldeman

Crave

I wake and whatever my pants, backpack, all of the things

necessary are in their pockets.  Clean-cut, light switch, there is a mirror

on the door's back perhaps one witnessed alterations executed in on entering?

Young fawn limbs, I wake, mind tires in mud, unfolding

to purchase one unnecessarily cold green soda, yield, my legs

moving under me as for many years they have bodily through

invoices of rain.  I am massive and straught, floodlit, requested

for the proper verb: my final memory of the last thing

I wanted among exquisite forking and strains, Prague stronghold

zoo for bats, was after even my friends had slouched

and boxed themselves, partial and unstaved, holding my entirety

by a finger I ran along this other's lobby embankment

of mailboxes until your name, a nail, and somehow railing

myself upwards, staircases, and I do not know what

I should apologize for, or revolvings extensively glimpsed

friend even now in me as a kettle on the um of some accreting, glacial blaze.

jay thompson