If it’s Monday, it’s my ovaries, so
unexpected. Could you please
The book came into the hands.
Reached by root
I am sitting in the tongue of an atomic bomb:
How should I behave?
Digging in a tangerine. Digging in a little girl. Digging
in a digression
of the smallest things: the spoon
On a Day
I hit you over the head with a particular don’t we
and the blinds snapped into formation.
Another kind: Do you carry
high wind advisory? I tend to
(and drop) emotional ramifications,
to see what happens when I pick petal.
: Something breathes.
I mean to say
under the waist is contrary.
: Dead: Mountain pansies
: Look and you’ll see
nine hundred scrutinies, the perennial atomic bomb, the inside
which is made of errors.
Kristen Orser is the author of Folded Into Your Midwestern Thunderstorm (Greying Ghost Press); Winter, Another Wall (blossombones); Wilted Things (Scantily Clad Press); Squint (Dancing Girl Press); and E AT I, illustrated by James Thomas Stevens (Wyrd Tree Press). She’s living in the country now, with loads of honeybees.