Bones of the dresser sound elegant
ability, drag and sweep stairs. Far farm studio shakes all
different nuts to chew loud pieces.
Paramedics save energy laughing all over the country.
Worse than plans in glass “won’t recognize me the street
started fishing well, frozen pond. A long time remembered
emergency room.
Huggy people erase the legs of a chair and all this paper.
Daughters came in fear of lunch pitied by Geppetto’s
forceful finish. Stealing across the square,
the legs of The Wooden Chair. Fell dogs fuss perfectly mountains of
confetti on the tongue. Bench journals lunch. James Page mittens documentary.
The poor don’t want, are happy only earthlight weaves to the spot,
moves on to the best received innocence written on tables,
enwreathed in ghosts.
I’ll disappear if one were to ask how erasing any awkwardness
candles in the street. Angles bend the line fish a busy room full of
shoes need repair.
Deep peg grocery bags change his sign to closed.
Guests arrive having picked the familiar face I ‘ m s u p p o s e d t o
think is insistent upon the faith of a trombone someone plays.
In the flash of a cackle, she warns, like me, the morning will capture,
needs to be praised.
-by Hanz Olson
Hanz Olson is currently a writer of poetry living in Casper, Wyoming after finishing school in Laramie. His poems have been selected for publication and appeared in Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, Open Window Literary Magazine, and Haggard and Halloo Publications.
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