by kvennarad

“Psalms out of Africa,
..sung sotto; compel me
..to make plane places

..rough, and I’ll rebel;
..one more god dragged
..across the stage in a

..basket, the fake sound
..of thunder – read what’s
..on my board, life here!”


..The profanity we call light
..sauces our thin bread, the
..top of all we see, the land
..we eat, the river we drink,
..the salt on the air such a
..taste on our breath; click
..– on with the cold kitchen
..spotlights! – our light does
..not meld, shows our faces!


You hear the angelus bell,
a muscle memory stronger
than piety reaches for the

rosary; a near miss, chaos
overtakes the ritual; this is
the moment of life – yes! –

now you know that reason
is brutal, that chance turns,
twists, leads a million steps.


jupiter©Marie Marshall