Suddenly, the world is gigantic. It has grown overnight. You see this while you are eating cereal. A very sugary cereal. An unnatural berry flavor in it, for sure. A bug crawls across the painted baseboard. It is a centipede. In fact, there are two of them, which means this is a love story. Maisie coughs. Maisie shortens her bangs. There is now something about them that says “Hi, group,” like she is standing in the middle of a circle of chairs. She says the way you are sitting gives off a feeling of spring. A design feeling. A downtown feeling. A feeling feeling. A buck walks by the window. It is polishing its antlers on the bark of a tree, and you think We never had a window there before.
The New Painting
The doctor rode the horse into town. Or the horse riding town into the doctor... In the new painting by [ ] a yellow -speckled stool is stacked (carefully) with human skulls, which we discuss over crepes and malbec in the garden. Massacre is the pinnacle of mortal enterprise, you say, touching your pointer finger to mine. We have been married twenty-seven years too long. The horror, I say, of the labor class is they are a mystic… Then the teleprompter shuts off. We wriggle out of our tight suitcoats, quick. When we woke all the trees were made of gold
I Was the Moon
Especially because I never saw the moon, I was ready for Kristiana. Kristiana Fisticuffs; Kristiana Wrench and Silly String I called her from the moon. I was the moon she said in reply and that’s not the last I remember of the emergency. Imagine a cart like Kristiana, full up of real warmth, traveling the country with an excess of minds. Bright fish stepped all over my hands. Pretty much never even tasted porridge until the morning when rococo came over to borrow some human nature. Kristiana at the window was petting a doe. Because I was the moon I was ready for Kristiana. Kristiana who said a lot of important words on stage in the basement while I was affecting the tides. Who biked circles around her treehouse as if it were whistling like a tea kettle. The sun rose for one hour. Bright fish stepped all over my hands.
JAKE BAUER is the author of the chapbook Big Pool, Oh and co-author of the chapbook Idaho Falls. He is also the author of Tracey Emin’s Tent, his first full-length collection of poems, published in January, 2023, by 42 Miles Press. He lives in Traverse City.
Artwork by David Dodd Lee.
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