in that all matters complicate and refine

Standard

the morning sun +
daybreak’s cigarette smoke
fill the room.
his drawers on the floor
where i left them last night

it’s been months since
i could even breathe a poem (prayer)
tried communing with those clown car gods–the poets
they had both good & silly things
to say about love, life
and the great & sad state of humanity

i breathe fire, she said
i’ll swallow that whole, he replied

ever walk into a bar only to become
witness to an intervention?
the tiniest thing rules the entire room

now the scent of bacon
& gear sounds, shifting on down the road
the waning summer wind already too cold with the lake effect

i’ll watch the leaves turn from this window

turn in my seat–
i can touch the palm of your foot
i can dwell in the chest of your heart
soft like pudding
or play-doh,
i haven’t decided which.


heyyMichele McDannold is the author of Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

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