JENNIFER H. FORTIN
CAN YOU WALK AWAY YET?
Edgy letter rising, somehow nestling; the haystack
begs for flames. Putting away from one’s self
the reasons. Matched together, they are the reason.
Incessantly-treaded sidewalk’s seven flattened
sparrows line.
A boot’s heel really digs the girth.
Firing squad’s target
circles. No one’s day is today.
O little one who is going that way.
Pressure on needle’s plunger. If looks could kill.
The brother on the kitchen floor consuming, having consumed.
Mirror’s wicked introduction to Really?
Most unspeakable thing: we deny
the narrows. Obvious joy, one another.
Someone else’s skin
under scooped fingernails.
Bowl of haired goat. Luxury served.
Blinds twisted upwards cannot afford total invisibility.
The walk around the car, around the car, around
the car, around the car, around the car.
The doors are definitely locked. Can you walk away yet?
For the storm warms up muscles, drilling for embrace.
Pie in my eyelashes. Its comedy crumbling.
Imprisoning square frame—the paint tallying days on a wall.
What the cells have
done to you on the outside.
Exposed wires exposing. Electronics
found at their ends.
If I drop an object, it is pulled
to the floor. We lie: falls.
A man’s any-mask makes me run.
Giving away possessions.
Listen to a last song carefully.
Anticipatory foundation
and lipstick.
Altering lens-shapes: see better, obliterate.
I need some warning other than too-bright/shield.
This morning I visited the driest June
hay, and I am some distance away.