‘Two Sonnets’ by Kristin Garth

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No Promise In A Pastel Sky

There is no promise in a pastel sky,
discovered by a waking eye toward
a window where it waits, a passerby,
perhaps, you hallucinate? No words
it utters, peony caped, fingers throat
until your mouth agape will swallow
his palettes blurred by aqueous eyes. Floats
away in southern skies while you wallow
in homogeny — pittance, molecules
he leaves, geriatric blue. You furrow
beige Berber, nose a dewy pane. Two pupils
constrained would trade this ennui for a pain furloughed
an hour would he deign to meet your eye
and overcome you like a pastel sky.

Torpor

Daydream ourselves into a cave not quite
a hibernation craved — more torpor, weeks
we’re licking dreams from dirty floors. Daylight
outdoors for carnivores in frigid creeks,
an afternoon to make their kills, more gaunt
each day and less fulfilled. When December
buries poetry in acres iced, taunts
fragility, our tendons remember
tranquility is always a dream
away. Requires a quiet place to stay.
Pardon the salmon for a day for streams
cerebral, more sublime, the month we make
a feast of our subconscious minds. Rebirth
us ferocious into feracious earth.

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie

‘Scarlet’ & ‘King of the Road’ by Kristin Garth

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Scarlet

His lust recruited off the rack. By crop
you’re broken, hands behind your back. You’re led
to bed, what’s wrecked repaired. Scarlet teardropped
back soothed between some silver hair/bedspread.

Her husband had you on the floor. Sex show,
a party favor, she saw more. “This play pretend
will numb young hearts. They’re real, my blows.
They tear apart. It’s hostile, but you mend.”

“A test,” she says you passed, in bed. Takes nude
pictures; lifts your head. “My friend, I find
him girls like you. A pretty servitude
to suffer true” — so little left behind.

A party mistress, photos, pain one night,
your ticket, tears, to torture, city lights.

King of the Road

It starts with snaps, a song for smacks. A muss
of hair, he muses music then attacks.
His hotel suite, and you’re the show. Surplus
of eyes that you don’t know. Pinstripes on back
of chair, a skirt scarlet, flared, barely there,
“A spanking for my southern girl,” crimson
handprinted ass of pearl. A chat affair
begets plane fare, across his lap, winsome
wet whimpers, without underwear. Circuit
of parties, master’s ring, a man of means,
acquires another pigtailed thing to hurt.
First date obscene, discovery nineteen,
first spanking of a thousand he bestows,
first audience of many on the road.

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie