« Gary L McDowell | Contents | Geoffrey Nutter »

Genna Kohlhardt

7 am & the sun


7 am & the sun


is unforgivable. The day arches


dull. This song reeks


of yesterday.  The tarp’s crinkle


is trying to tell you something. 


Morning’s chill light spreads


through the branches of their breath


like a slow river through silt.


They tuck into bridge


folds along the salty slump


of your river.  Between the two


directions of your road


something of her hair


reminds you.






I. Man & Woman


Would he complain as she needles

his tongue into the precise

hem of her dress? Still

as the lace sweeping

her breastbone.


Gravity’s staccato’d arch-



He records Autumn’s hazel as she floats

him over crabapple trees.



II. The way we open him up


Why are we disturbed

when the butterflies

are not moths? An out

of context blue.



III. Some questions for the man


What is hyper-real about the anticipation

of gravity? A heavy breath before jumping

into the lake. The way water

turns your skin alive.


Is it the body of your dream warming

your bed that finally kills you?  

Are your dreams bodied

when you are finally killed?


Did you think she could wrap

blue velvet around your organs

as the winter minnowed your lungs?

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