Saturday, July 16, 2011

Heidi Lynn Staples


In the beginning was now, dreaming collarless
streams like a couple straying together into

mold rage. We whose first names are.
We, whose? Same zip’s ode. Uncertain’s weather.

Ore’s knot. The sky in knots weight for anyone;
The ground, slow river, is and uttered star’s green.

As I was. Fraying. A torn anecdote
hit my mutter’s vernal core, ripped dawn here’s

fence. Nobody was her. Are you glistening through me?
Do you even core what I’m a keening? I don’t brink

you flew. Dear, my puns and homing too ripple of,
every sing leaks the filial truth: we will go supped in flumes.

Heidi Lynn Staples is the author of Dog Girl (Ahsahta 2007) and Guess Can Gallop (2004). Her poems have appeared in Chicago Review, Denver Quarterly, Ploughshares, Women's Studies Review, and elsewhere. Currently, she is finishing up a PhD in Athens, GA.