portion of the artwork for Jessie Janeshek's poem

Time Seems the Chasm. I Break the Glass.
Jessie Janeshek

Can we even get back
  from cat piss on the floor
our ever-broad north
  a trick bridge over Taos?

  I’ve never been saturate
but what warmth when the plane
  pushes all your notes forward.

You went on a painting parade
  fake blood, gasoline
vacillate sideshow.
  You gave up the drink.

  I went through a long phase
of teenage gang debs
  sore throats      paper lashes
Styrofoam heads.

I want to go where there’s no skin
  give ultimate oral
a cold Russian novel
  on the City of Rocks.

  You say no owl
has legs like that.
  You trust God’s answer
creek crack        pipe shot.
  You diagram
a certain dead hart
wrap yourself in the hide
  of its hind.

I want to find
  cedar squab houses pre-sunclose
be pulled through new towns
  on a leash of electrical sobs

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 46 | Fall 2015