DEUS EX MACHINA / Rachel

 

Rachel and footlights.

 

Chorus: A season deep in mourning shows only itself

A barren tree press

Stutters letters over water

Doubles metal cans on a string

Chorus: A season deep in mourning shows only itself

White lampposts and black stars around a ghost-shaped molecule

A lyrical wire about a personality bump profile

Every shade a glimpse our former selves

Chorus: A season deep in mourning shows only itself.

Frozen mitts compile echoes

Emotional aesthetes where ties one stood

A brothel of silver squirrels

Chorus: A season deep in mourning shows only itself

 

 

 

DEUS EX MACHINA / Rachel


Light reveals the back of Rachel’s head and her shadow on the wall facing her.

 

A snuff ideal

Bore entrance to your cave

Shag passed from surrogate father to son

Nightshade for forceps

 

You said you didn’t need this ignition

Tacky cognac words

An animal would smell the lavender on my neck

 

Rachel turns to reveal her face, the shadow behind her gone.

 

It sickens me to be a snuff box

This extinguish, this crush

This shackle full of wait.

 

 

 

 

JENNIFER PILCH is the author of Deus Ex Machina (Kelsey Street Press, forthcoming 2015) and four chapbooks: Profil Perdu (Greying Ghost), Mother Color (Konundrum Engine Editions), Bulb-Setting (dancing girl), and Sequoia Graffiti (forthcoming, Patasola). Her poems have appeared in American Letters and Commentary, Denver Quarterly, Drunken Boat, Dusie, Fence, New American Writing, Tarpaulin Sky Magazine, and The Iowa Review, among others. She edits La Vague Journal (www.lavaguejournal.com).

 

 

 

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