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The Pretense of Cut Glass

Raymond Farr

With the pretense of cut glass arranged in unnatural configurations, our bodies evoke what some call desire, an impossible black absorbs our likeness. Am I part of this? Hello you like women is both a question & a statement. Everywhere the sound of acrid moons smeared with yellow paste. A bottle breaks on a distant counter.

A Pantoum

Lucas Tromblee

I’d like to be scratched asleep by her french words the black in her eye, her black coffee stain skin beneath a porch light, in a quasi-arctic village on the Hudson Bay smoking before sunrise in the aurora, constellation dream . the black in her eye, her black coffee stain skin in the wolf-gray morning. I’m remembering smoking before sunrise in the aurora, constellation dream drifting back to sleep, hearing glaciers form . In the wolf gray morning. I’m remembering how to gut a turkey. In an hour the fat starts to hiss. You’re drifting back to sleep, hearing glaciers form through the open window, and a cold gust unfolds the blanket and your legs. . I set your plate on the stand without spilling any of the juices. Your eyes are Nestilik homes. They fill with the new yellows through the open window, and a cold gust unfolds the blanket and your legs. I am at heart content, but . Your eyes are Nestilik homes. They fill with the new yellows Of sparks flying from the snowmobile’s engine. I scream at the vast, open ice. . I am at heart content, but I’d like to be scratched asleep by her french words

guess that makes me hotter than you