who cannot fall asleep without ceremony

and i hope you are enjoying the city.



                 a man who is only shoulders clips the green from his lawn

                 (this is not genocide)

but ammunition reserved for the celebration



for this we use sino, she says, and there are wrinkles in her eyes

Bang Bang

I was not responsible:                 

                                            Green copper residue remembers,

RAIN HAPPENED HERE.  In    

                                            the post-intellectualized mess of

eating peaches, feet and legs   

                                            aimed at perpendicular, too young for

a generation, Aleksey scrolls  

                                            his reasons for reconstructing

shipwrecks on the stairs            

                                            we’ve left unpainted.

Kat Dixon is poetry editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly and author of Kississippi (an e-chap from Gold Wake Press).

Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in blossombones, elimae, Indefinite Space, Otoliths, Clockwise Cat, and elsewhere. She may occasionally be found blinking HERE.