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Listening Party By Lisa Wells


Last night‘s moon! Up late. Strange car spied circling through mini-blinds. Strange ideas beaming in. Beached on my mind‘s ossified shore. My woman slurs behind the deadbolt, bangs the door, busts the window, then the officers arrive. Oh love! I touch her cascade of course black hair and dream her wild fists upon my medicine-thick chest. Abandon plans to strap blocks of C-4 to my torso and drive on that tyrannous Coulee Dam. Swallow instead chalk-white lithium and enter the cool green sea inside. Like clouds electric jellyfish herd overhead. Constellations of origin, sparkling dinoflaggelates, such visions overtake me! Lunacy. The moon hoists me out my own mouth and a spray of sea foam for the orderlies! Cracking up I like to say, I’ve lost my crackers, but nothing is ever lost. God rushes my empty pockets. Meaning‘s bone awl threads the spaces between.


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