Forests in her Nostrils

A Prose Poem

Artwork by Author

She’s got dreams up her nose, in her eardrums, on the bedroom. There are people saying wrong things, there are teachers at the store.
Men in Flackish jackets storm the barnlets, eat the chickens. Some who push the mower jank their jillies, dodging holes.
The addicts do their homework, the choir watch its neighbors, the pastor flicks a booger, the ocean hums along.
Certain wishers hope for hurricanes…

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If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.

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Fox Kerry

Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.