Check out our first poem! A ‘dropping lines’ original!

We asked attendees of the Christian Wiman event to leave us a line of poetry/prose– we put them all together, and this is the final product! Enjoy!

Tonight, we will share one plate

I drop you a dotted line, let
your imagination fill the spaces.
I am not ready to face
it— Let alone know if I can embrace it;
little falconie
alights on your balcony,
talons printing in the blood;
he will love you like a spent bulb.
Now looking back down this tunnel,
it’s hard for me to pretend,
that I can see my life, when I can only
see the end—

(Let’s walk the long way from the parking lot!)

When did you decide
that sweater shock, that leather frock
could suit a deck of cards,
like the one docking around
on two legs. The squawk of it!
The trees danced like young boys
with hands in their pants holding
back their piss with whispers and creaks.
Was that a breeze?
Or a peony
speaking Chinese
to the rose?
Her lips juicy red—
Apple red
like a twig in the tunnel
of your magnetic ear—
syrup asphyxiates,
honey cakes.
The wings, the sings,
the bruised rings on my wings.
A fish dropped down,
smooth as an ironed dollar.
Anything that can happen
will happen on speech day,
the shy, icy music we’re caught in,
over and of
that beloved dust.
Go through and through,
over there and over
there, like the Buddhist do.

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