Jen Tynes

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THE ARBITRAGE

 

 

Equinox

 

Into chairs a visionary inability

aligning shoulders hips everything

is special repeats represents or counts

them on her hands

and knees their word deer

for dinner or pullet instead skyblue

size of his thumb but not

from there fingers can’t

touch still guides

the guide.

 

 

 

 

Muffler

 

Take what you want

from desire and turn

over this fits

my system the doting smells

of cabinets somehow my hair’s

held back mercury to bulb we roll

with it this is all

the daylight all

the spoons in your mouth

all new all suffered your hands feel

like ice.

 

 

 

 

Vertigo

 

That step was affected not on top

of images pictures of pictures

of not filibuster

the divorce with meaning

bring us some

sandwiches it’s raining

this time it’s a euphemism

for keel the queen anne etc

only has three legs you hide

it well.

 

 

 

 

Moderate

 

They get tired

of the ocean when they get tired

of the ocean and the fact

they juggle horseshoes they do it

bareback they build

a barn burn sometimes

they dream of whaling they whale

and whale and whale.

 

 

 

 

Sesame

 

Three dogs buried but still

the brown carpet she laughs

her ass off white

bellied like dinner coyote

at the door these are just

things call it

local flavor call

and call it

won’t come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

LOW-LYING

 

 

Favor some mothers with darkened cars like berries

 

Turn late, press hard or pull off a darker curb

Than molding, a row of busted

 

Headlights tell no tales, hay or bunting to place

Some body to the weekend

 

Some mother’s loveseats set back to spine

 

Some unlit automobiles lining the unnerved

Interstate are crystallized deposits

 

Inside like limbs and weeds some contradict

When it rains

 

And rubs in you some bald spot to love

 

No caravan, procession, some mother’s

Parade is gone in the pantry

 

Some sibling never learned how, is gone in the utility

Room to butcher, will taste like mold

 

And some mothers couldn’t harm a drowned

Bucket, some mothers walk

 

Right in you keep treading

 

Into the weekend, back the weakened

To back the darkened head anticipates

 

Following, a backwards tangle and

 

Some headlight, mothers caught in the

 

Folding, the dark linens you might leave

For anytime, a blooming bunch

 

Some might call

Cluster or nervous mothers leave hanging

 

To the trees, your way of burning all

Night, to let you out

 

Of raising

 

Some several hands above there.