Knar Gavin



Mouths of Grain


A samaritan? Just a person
from a particular place.

I too have come
from a particular place.

Have tried to be good when I pass
you on the road, your mouth a tear
across our pool of flesh, tiniest country.

I might swear Id like to we set the sun, bone-illumed,
& cast it all river, my tear-maw to yours, flowing through the gape.






Prophecies from Salt Lake


Eyes toward that elsewhere
and wiser now I sit beneath
a broad spread of filtered light.

Is this the bright, bright alone?

I imagine an array of pines
between what you did
and what you might have.

They sent a fleet of
officers into the canyon,
hot on the trail of girl blood.

As if you might have killed. As
if you ought to have. They found
neither ponytail nor hoof.

Later, the head
officer was relieved
of his duties, Bible-hog
wild and having
done it to himself.

Still, the apparatus
prays beside your grave:
let there be a dead girl.




Backward   |   Issue Nine   |   Forward