jyocum
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Clouds hang unmoving in the windlesssky. The one tree just waits. Appalledat the asphalt. Taken aback by the baldlie. All joking aside, it’s a menace. My desk hulks like a boulder in the officeupstairs, accumulating tasks. Wiredfor work and work alone. Yet here I cower,limbs limp, a heart-sleeved mislaid puppet. That is to say: The…
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Wherever thistles wither, little knotsare knuckled, blossoms rot, leaf and stem.Stitches loosen at a dress’s hemwhile a mother jangles thimbles in her pockets. The myriad ways to savor a Highland Scotch:this churning storm cloud; the annoying friendtwisting in one’s chest; the scar beginningto itch again, with a picture yellowing in its locket. A melody wafts…
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Mourning. Choked and cloakedas a hung monk. Sky-buried. Wings a heart-splayedrain of answered prayers,folklored antlers, sick-green, rare as the small alabaster spineof a four-foot dragoncoiled under glassin a cloud of formaldehyde. originally published in Albatross #27
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Who will remember your name?These breeze-combedtrees with theirthousand hushes. Under the thunderon the tall white porch,a mislaid teacup catches rain. Name me one thing morebeautiful than a livingbeing’s laughter. originally published in Albatross #27
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I paid attention, recordedeverything: redbig moonrise, quick over cloudbank.The sourmilk scent: mums wilton my altar, flesh ashing,cymbals. All of us clanging: “Wrong,wrong, wrong.” The fruitoffering baked into an ache. A beautiful brighthouse of slightblue to walk through,its name “Tomorrowand the BigSky Who opensUp With It.” Sliver of lapis in my changepocket.My thumbnail hill-lost,wandering your clavicle.…