—
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