[stories from across the ocean]
the broken pleasure of knives begin, weaves incompressible
intrusion on inescapable spreadsheets
I have a death watch count down, termination amongst the
swell of three-quarter fools who dance reptilian obedience
do not raise above the star’s subtle shades of lowered eyes
that shuffle into place
the flowers brown and wilt. the street turns gray. no sound is
possible in this counterfeit circus, only the faintest groan labors
out of something, like an organ swollen from so much marching.
Copyright © 2016 by kari edwards. Used with permission of Frances Blau.