Intersecting Planes by Carol “Jane” Hagen
Unable to find a horizon I once tried to dive into the sky at midnight there is no sign of where stars end and ocean begins I leapt too high
Unable to find a horizon I once tried to dive into the sky at midnight there is no sign of where stars end and ocean begins I leapt too high
There is none of the electricity of winter in the marshland spring rains. Instead, they roll in on the humidity, oppressive and swollen. The peepers are the first to announce
His crème brûlée is starting to grow mold, Cream and yolk separating Like he and I on the sidewalk that night, Slowly but steadfast, No chance of reconnecting. Our jambalaya
I want you to feel me in your veins like fire: darkening, hardening, burning. I want to melt over you, under you, inside you like butter. Lay me down, spread
You screamed the captain died You cheery messenger Of a depression-drugged paper What else must you preach about this life That heroes decline That a kitten survived That we are