Jennifer MacBain-Stephens


annie savage sings me a garden one friday night

she’s compact and fiddle

I hear croon
and cow colored folds

she’s short and strumming
a two instrument jam

with male skull opposite
you know each other’s flannel

a bear appears behind you
jumping feet and closeness thigh

how you do hold yourself in public
girl and guy fake it

dying to bite flower chime
sing to me in the back

in all black and proximity

hide and stammer
tap it fall over smirk

our circle that drives us apart

a slow bargain never leaves the
blue grass green

state it economical or too animal?

my neck is the size of hers

Annie says muskrat to all of the boys
and they grind their mountains ragged,

strangle ties and grab their selling babies
bleed scrap metal music yard
all of the dying Mondays reek
and sweet bus driver blues moan

Johnny says he thanks the bus
driver for bringing her to him

when it’s that serious do we even
know? Steal the violinist,

the trestle and the howl
the carrot cake promise

Your lips move to others
eyes too big to taste

even a wolf can thunder

applause: wet : a drowned handkerchief
and swim across a raging stream once

will I hear
will I try
will I
try try

a power to the third position
and falling asleep under angels

are over There is no exit
no to do list
no written set list

to sweep and burn

Annie mocks the spring
and so it snows. Why did ya have to

go and do that Annie?
She wanted sunless ghost cheekbones

and I wanted to crash into humble
shoulder gods. A Goth rumbles

down my creek side, careens with

jackals and a death rain shadow
mocks the relentless wind?

the opposite resides in my organs
they burn orange and jealous

in this fake love season
play connect the pain and

we are landlocked and hot laps
we are slam the door on a dog’s paw

Why can’t I feel
your beard and sun-soaked eyes

and sandals for weeks.
Annie prolonged the winter with her fiddle

You grow me: water my fingers
type faster to reach you

you play disease and mourn
you grow taller and I steal your dirt

I come. I plant. I stable for you.
Tell the others it wasn’t up to me

A mix of Stockholm syndrome and a bundle of guts
wrapped up in temperature control

This prison suits me. I grow like a weed.
No one plucks me: I protrude barbs

Drop seeds that fester
Don’t spade my vines

I’ll come back stronger
I’m established now

you didn’t blink
until my poison pellets
drop down your gullet.