“Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you, dear lady, from going insane”
Two in the bush, that disaster of fluttering
wings, those small hearts heaped on a plate
those dead notes loose in windless trees
the ocean’s other mouth. She watches
through white capped waves, for sailors
their green hair pulled back rough in a scaly
undertow of driftwood and claws.
We are the orifice of fire and smoke and song
rhythm of waves and lust in the blood. We kiss
and we eat. We are owls. Our moaning
batters your ears, we have pushed past barriers
of melody’s golden weave, we are throats and tongues
Steve Klepetar teaches literature and creative writing at Saint Cloud State University in Minnesota. His work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Flutter Press has recently published his latest chapbook "My Father Teaches Me a Magic Word"