Kari Peeter Woo
Water flows over never under, revolving the earth itself revolving, denying the rooted a pause. Her name like water runs spilling into the belly of a pond as wind combs the looseness of her hair into the snake of desire. Rising with the mist, she takes to the air, dancing, leaving the breath of the blue to curl around the greenery whose shadows form behind a slowly passing cloud.
Three Stages of Suicide and a Moral Chin Morano
Stage 1 By the Lake autumn winds winter winds spring winds summer winds dry marsh grasses dying fish starve in the heat of mud. but this is not so bad nor is it the best part Stage 2 In the Street an old woman hunchback rakes leaves as they fall damply onto her shawl parting the nearly bare oaks like lovers adrift in early rain hiding their wonder at staying dry in each other's arms. Stage 3 Finale in the Closed Room inside the gaslighted garage unbearable fumes fester in loose ribbons near a corner pointing toward the faint moon the loft hangs beneath a sagging ceiling cluttered with screws and hooks suspending air tightly-packed bales of hay and rope decorate the need for coarse necessities like thin legged ponies and other beasts lapping at a disappearing saltlick piles of shit everywhere symbols deep with meaning wafting over neighborhoods miles away Moral it is no simple wonder for its lack of beauty: Flesh, the soft lacuna, a daybreak of darkness, bleak thew of emptiness. no hermit rock nor dry leaf lives outside its shadow.
Umbriate Press Poetry 