The surface cannot hold so just
give it a little tap
The shape in the distance stretches and sighs, suggests
a mountain, the fin of some predatory
fish, the encroaching tooth, a horizon
(trees, corn) (razed fields)
by destroying the document you can force the eyes behind,
the document becomes artifice and the wall, performance
here you can find a muscular red expanse and
off-centered, the slit, one freedom contaging
document of violence. (I used
to call you the Big Bad Blond Wolf.) You could
think: streamers twisting in a birthday wind. You could
think: the empty chorus mouths, you could
think: curtains you could turn sideways and
slip through. Behind that red curtain waits Abraham,
your lover, a commuter rocket to Mars. Flack mouth in a
Red world. I will meet you there.
Click this link to view Lucio Fontana's "Spatial Concept, Waiting."
Farren Stanley's place-of-origin is Santa Fe, New Mexico, though her heart has followed her body to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where she is a MFA candidate in Poetry and Editor of Black Warrior Review. She lives under a massive Magnolia tree with a dog, a cat, seven orchids and the occasional lizard. Her work is published or forthcoming in Marginalia, Caketrain, H_NGM_N and at Greying Ghost Press.