by Khadijah Queen ___________________ the usual old shoe still lifes in October, birds again I’m en plein air Victorian patio-style when on the roof’s right corner, a thuggish blue jay lands heavily on tarred shingles & departs after a feral glance my way. Lighter, sparrows inch closer in, moss-mouthed, plumping eaves for nesting. Flashes of jet on the jay’s face, its tail, white on azure, such a serious flight, in my sunstroked eyes make a faded photograph I double-expose, which reminds me I left a hair tie in your bucket seat. But I’m alone at this cabin. The floor’s wood grain so old it snags my good socks. What would I do barefoot? Tire my legs out & splinter, trying to run from soft creatures.   Miniature Odes [Black Tears]: One fell from a chandelier, lacquered, catching sun. Inelegant, cartoonish eyes in onyx relief, diminished relative to cavernous space [Lambrechts]: You only get one window in this scratch-off game—patchwork graphic wood. What seems like seeping approximates in revelation, an allowance of the eye—feathering practice, no dancing [O collagist]: O montage maker of scenes ancient & modern & profane, O superimposer of meaninglessness upon the suffering voiceless in the gloss of... Read More