Issue 7 :: Spring 2005  
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Henry Stanton


man can these bones live again, or what!

the night is dying and dawn insists a rustling sound love and grace the gusset perfectly folded
I return to yesterday Zoe rooting around behind the dumpster finds the black lace panties
tosses them up and up the other dogs give chase she is delighted her thin snout has a toy she can covet
last night she vomited panties in the living room and Drew reports to his dad there's a dead bat on the rug
this is what I revisit
halloween a red crystal heart
shattered bones scattered reassemble
up from dust

and the way magic also presents itself to me all day long something I care so little about magicians their tricks
boys in capes embroidered by adoring mothers whirling glaring out over satin drape whirling again
I want to lie back down and sleep
dream cry out for change to shoot oneself from curiosity
devour the fresh breads and drunken circuses now this atavism not before not later
I dive into wormholes a small and desperate fish shimmering
timeless hormonal drive towards
idleness the root of all that is good not bored evil
all that is humane.


I freeze this morning when I hear the thud dogwoods leaning near enough
(you’ve put on some suet my love) standing out back by the feeders stuffing the suet cakes in the suet cage
of the big female sharpie striking down the mourning dove
on the ground a skirt of wings protects the faltering kill.
I am frozen the hawk tears out the breast feathers flips them blood stains up in the curious wind
some catch in my sweater.

Flurry of chest feathers thud of plump snow slipping off the hot dumb roof
she carries away her kill flying just off the ground
my life blown again wild thud of my heart
and squinting at the fat savage sun.
Photo credit: Corel