second draft by Wynn Everett this is not hillbilly folk singing he insisted, there is form, a necessary pattern, no need for commas breaking the rhythm the syntactic unit subtracts from the world while removing punctuation allows for the divine don’t rhyme it reads beginner aren’t we beginning? fight against first person keep tone universal […]
6am by Wynn Everett If this beetle knew her size light peach backpack over speckled grey arms a morning voyager miniscule in a land of broken cement twisted around blades of earth breaking up journey’s rhythm how quickly her end by sun, gale or direction of this hose spindly legs never shaking never cursing her […]
Naked by wynn everett on the table, ivory Jezebel, thin and wan, her drunken tailor, slobbers black devotion across pallid frame like the cripple lugging his Bedford clunk. Threading the quill, basting the stitch, fastening each word with fervor until she sits upright, here, scrutinized, inky, partially clothed.
Raising by wynn everett If the backyard finger of The Etowah remained in first position instead of double stopping, and the smoke from his cigarette sensed the jig out of date. If her fork to the bowl, whipping tambourine caw, found agreeing harmony in Sundayâ€™s rattling page. If The Grand Ole Opry giggled less at […]
Standing Eight by wynn everett She an out-fighter gradually tactic. He more a swarmer, time still on the clock. No mismatch first nine, footwork in place, 1960’s shag platform four feet off the grass. Rounds ten through fifteen, in her corner reclines (suburban ropes expand quietly with age). Hardly counting the score after forty in […]
Guest House by wynn everett From skull to heel this house is haunted. The mystic in albescent ribs, apparitions sweep in cranial halls valve flutters with each step up stairs of belly that groan her climb. My house is haunted. Must be still. She pays a handsome rent.
51 steps by wynn everett A. No Forest of Arden, forced forward reverse, revolving in pattern, contorting backward each rung. Every strand of the prize in black and blue- print, engine of fingers gripping tight to the rail. T. Unlocking remorse, (men under the stairs) if Ganymede had coded the ray strung exposed- evolution applauding, […]
Visage by wynn everett Awake- (when I had skin on), I fancied walking my fingers around my jaw. Where all ten would fight their turn – and ridges to brain, agreed, that I, too, was no different. Years could tickle or beat, but in shade, my grip would find – underneath. And mind’s pupil rate […]