I didn’t ask for any lip. Just wanted a sip
of twilight before taking the train to the Death Park.
It’s like a carnival, attendants dressed in paper
hats, mouthing pretty words in lost languages.
Irresistible summer night; no camera can
forget its red horizon, invitation of clouds.
In a corner of the parking lot, the fire eater
speaks his intentions. He needs a lighter for his songs.
A child psychic paints potential, talks of things to come.
It’s his habit to live forward, never to look back.
No apologies. I was a baby once. In an
instant it’s time to go, leave behind no witnesses.
As we dance in the cafeteria of young trees,
the urge to sing comes from a need to cup our silence.
In this museum of roses we’re disposable.
I want to drink from your red lips before I drop off.
—Previously published in Entropy Magazine (25 May 2017) as part of the poet’s dis•articulations project; appears here with her permission
is the author of ten books of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, including Embers, a novel in poems, and Insurgent Muse: life and art at the Woman’s Building, a memoir. Her newest poetry collection, Ruin Porn, will be published at the end of 2017. She is the founder of Writers At Work, a creative writing studio in Los Angeles, and Affiliate Faculty in the MFA Writing Program at Antioch University Los Angeles.
Author’s website: http://terrywolverton.com