by kvennarad


She settled where the woods buzz with a

thousand mirlitons, gourds, shells, roman

lamps with fingerholes pierced, sistrums

and tambourines, windharps, above the

local cloudline but on a day of light upon

soap-bubbles and spectrums on flywings


and the rattle of tracking stones, and she

sang the forest nakedness away with its

lunatick resurrection Come food! Come

forage! was her song, and it was attended

with madness; the following was decreed

in the city piazzas, S T O P : Y O U R :


W O U N D S : A N D : W A L K, but no

one knew by whom, why the monumental

face of it, all they knew was the whirl and

birl, tabletcovers birded, flew, the statues

sambaed, drunks spoke on phenomenology,

public clocks longstopped ticked in 5/4 and


chimed in primes, digital displays randomised

haiku, ranters dumbed though some fluidised,

flushed like soft boys, some cried The Empress

has no clothes! others The Bull has no balls!

and both bore good and straight witness; we

wondered, some of us, whether there was a


quiet centre to it all where a god sipped a soda

and sat back, but to others that was a mean

consideration, all was up, a jubilee picnic,

cupcakes, cheesecake, a tablecloth cottoned

over everything, primavera leapfrog, dog

mornings, treepollen, tactile and harmonious


Machinery; bellyup in the copse, where it all

Started she contemplated skyblue arcs, and

the crisscross or recalcitrant branches; Ho

hum, ho hum, it’ll all happen soon enough,

the time; 07:25; carousel; a kite fast on the

wires skittered its tail, inebriate on freedom


jupiterThe counterlyricwise advance continues ©Marie Marshall