"without any cajoling your animal ascended--"

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Issue 13: Free Form

Issue 12: The Necessary Ear

Issue 11: The Necessary Eye

Issue 10: Out on a Limb

Issue 9: The Missing Body

Issue 8: The Lily

Issue 7: Passages

Issue 6: No More Tears

Diana Adams


Deep in the lungs of green, a catch
of knives so sharp-- yet we keep
putting bright things in their hair.

No one talks to them anymore. Thieves
don't come out, no one naps or spreads out
red squares for chicken bits. No, nothing

marches out into the sun after being lost
or led by leopards. A shelter for fat
country beasts that eat themselves--

I don't like it. I see how they're tall
amidst squabbles, or bent low
to catch grave whispers. Waving

dead arms in air they probe
our dark hotels, grow children
close to their feet.


Raising the Dead

Eating my fish stew, you wiped off
your shoulders as if they were coated
in bog & loam. As if your life

had ended, the fish caught in Hades,
& you were preparing to tumble
down the rough ladder into something
much darker than all of this, when

without any cajoling your animal ascended--
(I feel it at your cheekbone. There, touch it.
Can you feel it too?)you drank the whole bottle,

unlocking the red door to the winds
of lust. This should be enough to blur
all our edges, summon a boat full of angels

loaded with levers, scissors & string.
We'll fashion some kind of pulley to hook
at your elbows, & fly you out of that bed.