Switched-on Gutenberg Issue 16
Strike: Variations on Ten Words

I couldn’t say
which was first—
the snowblue dazzle
or the hiss of lightning.
A sharp sting,
the rasp of lumber,
a musty tang of
wood unveiled,
but finally, gently,
the air plush
with billowing ions.
He lumbers into my room,
his breath musty, a rasp
on my neck. The tang
of alcohol stings my eyes.
A thin hiss escapes
my throat. Suddenly,
he’s quick and rough,
lightning. I sink into
my snowblue place,
billow into a plush void,
a dazzle of ice on my lips.
I lie like musty old lumber
when I want to billow
in snowblue skies. I want
to be the lightning
that stings the earth,
the rasp so sharp it dazzles.
I lie, not in the plush
smoke of hissing
wood alive with flames,
but in a tang of decay
that grounds me.

Box Construction with Fish and Tube
Copyright 2010, David Francis

Copyright 2010,  Scott Wiggerman

Scott Wiggerman is the author of two books of poetry, Vegetables and Other Relationships and Presence, forthcoming this year from Pecan Grove Press. A frequent workshop instructor, he is also an editor for Dos Gatos Press, publisher of the annual Texas Poetry Calendar, now in its thirteenth year.

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