I’ll tell you serious. Jarvis Park, the wood stork’s wings now opening, black tipped, a million years of flight on the now-carrying air that is clear all the way up to the palimpsest moon. But a tsu- nami’s hitting Japan. The roiling cars and trucks and torn-off roofs a revision, the mistaken mouths of mothers filling with wet sand, where children who’ll never be are the bleak memory of mayors. Aboveness and sky nothing but interior roiling the gut of a reactor’s core, heating lyric into a scream: do we really consist of song that is only the stream of a whore’s lies? Dear Nature, dearest Jove, bearded St. Peter, don’t tell me you don’t conspire arm in arm in hell.
John Allman | Trimming Leo’s Toenails Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)