2 by nolan allan

Image by Peter Cole Friedman

                                   Tall Yellow Bird

            Tonight I finally get to see their bodies
            impaled upon a lightning-struck cedar 
            tree. Blindfolded, I mistake 
            the luna moths tickling my penis for you 
            and your guileless ministrations.

            I am a vine that is stroking 
            your cheek, my eyelashes
            are stamens and pistil
            and your lips are bumblebees
            pollinating my face. I am going to major in Pokémon 
            law so that when I’m older
            I can run for Congress
            and enact a political platform 
            of Wartortle reform 
            *groans echo from the stuttering crowd* 

            Panopticon stoops whereby I finally deliver 
            a sermon on the Mountie. Framed 
            portraiture of a tall yellow bird 
            surrounded by floating letters
            holographically projected from a Denny’s Grand Slam future. 
            
            Catcalls culled from rambling men dressed for days 
            of deep mourning. Wolves wearing t-shirts
            ft. 3 guys howling into an emoji translator. What are the chances 
            that my life is just a part of a semi permanent performance 
            art installation wherein it takes a lifetime
            to raise a village and to grow 
            a lil kawaii bonsai forest 
            that my nemesis subsequently cuts down 
            using a even more lil set of kawaii chainsaws and horticulture tools.

               90 Degree Angles

            Krispy Kreme crowns lobbed into vats
            of pure pore oil. Freckles grow
            as big as half dollars in the Coca Cola
            American hued sunlight. Only those who sweat
            shall engender their reward (no pain no gain) 

            I SMS texted my drug dealer to see if he had any rare earth 
            metals for sale. I rub your skin 
            with softened animal skin. The first bat to grow 
            wings must have been pretty pleased
            with herself. An aluminum cloud swelled 
            and burst, then left and crashed 

            a much more obtuse party. I hunt rabbits and crouch 
            in the tall grass and delicately arrange the organs 
            in an aesthetically pleasing manner. We found her body 
            near one of the elaborate phantom ship wrecks 
            that dot the ocean floor like acne.

NOLAN ALLAN's work has been published or is forthcoming in similar:peaks::, Keep This Bag Away From Children, TheNewerYork, and Noncanon Press. More of his words can be found here.