Doug Roy, Stroke Stroke, Cut Paper
Remembering Has Never Had Us In It
Rattling between flame and sky,
Landscapes, clocks, and top sheets
burn. They cast shadows with bright knuckles,
play what was onto dust. Dresser drawer mews
with a baby, clown joins a cult, noseless
and noiseless. Nail salon massage chair
thumps and bumps, rhubarb shoots up
in the dark to be like light. After the rifle,
through smoke and broken
air, a fish will find a feather to carry
in its mouth as it slides off the edge
of a parched gully and into a flat day.
A heart waiting for its other beat,
a drummer using her chest to become
what she killed for the last
fire on Earth.
______________
Liv Campbell