| THE WHITE MOOSE
by Jasmine Dreame Wagner The white moose grins with teeth so mellifluous, so orderly in the Definitive Guide to Holiday Craft, which I have plucked from a stranger's shelf, which does not mention Christmas. Its pages are gummy with White-Out, perhaps, a self-portrait, white moose. How do you navigate the starless sky when the moon hunkers down in her trailer, lone headlamp dangling, myopic. When all the candles of all the cakes have blown out. When all the taillights of all our father's Buicks have gone out, too, will you walk me down this discount alley of warehouse storage, announce yourself in a newsflash chorus of flickering red nines. You have been asleep longer than you had topsoil. Your fame, galaxy-wide, tossed over one shoulder. We want to know one fact about each and every star because we, too, are gold-embossed, because we, white moose, have been plucked, like you, because our flesh is ornament. |
| THE FULTON FISH MARKET
by Tim Keane they haven't bulldozed these ghosted no-holds, an aery, with shuttered peek-a-boo gates, vacant museum to fertile bargains where bicyclists pedal holding their noses through the slipstream & their bike spokes quicken, flashing a fanny pack's zipper-grip & the silver wide-angle lens, on the promenade, where the film crew close in on elderly actors doing tai-chi catching an echo-scent from a guardrail, a cold wind, dense with flounder, a river-gust thick with cod, grouper as truckers barrel down the ramp and decelerate, gazing at the no-holds, craning from cab-windows and wolf-whistling at no one, admiring the wet hair that maps the fine tributaries on the shoulders of mermaids only they remember. Solipsism |
Photograph by Josh Chesney |
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