[1115]
from this bed the city
waits on me half-awake (human suit!) watching
the window washers saddle up high
above river’s magenta
awnings
wavy heat
melodramatic vista straight buildings stand far out
of the water held
in my hand
every view’s a hospital
i have been too
honest about looking
he can’t find my veins
i was certain these clanking machines
the antiseptic
the sutures
the cytosine
[1128]
exhausted paradigms work, etc.
government takes it loans, etc.
have not showered
one tall wall etches Monday caffeine
a glass house (re-upped)
watching earlier: gravitational waves?
dark matter?
going to be late if i continue lifting my skin with the safety pin i recognize this i continue
lifting the safety
centifolia
in the garden i tell you
the old
roses were made
to gather
scent until scent
spat back wire.
the carnivorous pitcher
plant sways around
its prism. a green
frog clings
to the lip.
we both wonder.
noon’s target twitches on
our chins then
a host of cool
smoke. we see
ourselves tired of
bodies, warm shells—
we are cruel to the succulent
who grows as
a rock
performs
(safer than
itself).
outside the fence
a leaf tings
its cymbal. we
read the lines but still
can’t keep
the trail.
we know we won’t
be like other
makers, going far
in their borders
with nothing
sharp to say.
Abbigail Baldys is an interdisciplinary artist. She earned her MFA from Saint Mary’s College of California. Her work has appeared in 491 Magazine, Reality Beach, Three Rivers Review, Collision, and elsewhere. You can find her ignoring contact cement in South Williamsport, PA.
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