L.S. Klatt

My halo attracts lightning
& so I am dead
or possibly there's a dead man
in my mouth
...

Little bronze door where lead you?
I smell an ape or a gory fanatic
anvil head in his hairshirt lap
...

Under the yonder, I searched for my name in a blue
book. The pages were doors without knobs or keyholes, yet,
because blue comforts the eyes, the tome opened up to me.
Suddenly I had a taste for blue; it depicted the impossible.
...

The mailman sent piecemeal a rare donkey
to the city of waters; to the city of waters
a rare donkey was sent, swaddled
in blueprint.
...

Perfect stitches suture the glass, & if patient enough
watch them disappear.
Like the dead dog in the middle of the road, the invisible
dog that an ice cream truck hit & the rest of us
...

Something old to fondle, Osage
fruits, the stooping
transplants—my brother & I threw 'em
I-275
eastbound oranges, sky chopper traffic
...

You graze me, purple star
sad blood sack
you dead End
...

The pine threw down its needles
The squirrel played in a pile
What a strange response
...

Like a piano hinge
the door of his belly swings
he titters
...

Cast-iron block & tackle
look for light in an orange boat
hooks, delphinium
nets drying in a golden pile
...