FACTION
variation on a first line by Matt Miller
My escape route was endless
invention. If one wormhole
failed, I’d wait for a new star
to collapse and fall into its own
black magic. I’d start to gnaw
at my molecular bonds, eat my
way through another ligature.
fj was my favorite; all those
fjords. The ponies tölt on, sure-
footed in the darkness. We must
rendezvous with the submarine
before dawn where meltwater
from a glacier tints the sea azure,
reaching international waters as
a green flash opens up the horizon.
SEQUENCES
the wild field a clean dish waiting for rain
the elm tree casting its leaves into the void
the curb rein too tight on the nervous horse
the sorrel mare sidling away from the fallen rider
the lost glove dragged from the rider’s hand
the left lens of the broken glasses under a leaf
the swollen left eye slowly closing its blinds
the night spreading black water over the brain
the pale roots fingering their dark domain
the park’s empty paths swirling through grass
the sad uncle dropping the green jars to break
the young son carefully picking up broken glass
the dog still waiting by the door each evening
the muddy pavement retaining a faint stain
