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Olivia Cronk

We’ll share a lung in the tree—

 

We’ll have a taste of popped cupboard.

With chapel, chapel,

I rode a branchlet here,

a wished wind weeping willow.

A day like you

is on the record player

right now.

Pianos crackle quiet

to the tune of my swamp paw,

                        my swamp paw, you do,

Color my breath pale.

And there is tea and there is a birdbath.

Very miniature eyeglasses for adventure.

The party’s a crinoline sash

and a wolfy belt.

The frost giants are gone.

The place is all knees and napkins.

Us two we will share a lung.

 

 

Poplar Picnic

 

 

            anyway it’s more than been able.

In roustabouts may I store my treats.

 

You’ve always been

you’re fond of

a sunset

all of the time.

 

            rent party, rent party, rent party

 

wrists—

 

I think this waterfall is fine enough, yes.

A last vacation of

lichen frocks in the beautiful unending valley.

Take you a letter Maria, this carp, say,

Ahflah!

Other sweethearts you can laugh.

Go ahead.

Other hands of bears

to anoint the temples

and be bristles

for the sweet sister who wore his name.

Some gentlemen I know

oughtta give more credit

to the wasted throats here.

 

 

 

 
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