Our lava flow—red cheap
horror movie blood, intersection
pale gray sea, steam & all sorts of
roiling, steely foreground
outcropping & floating there above,
a sienna demon or angel, so
alike in their unexpected
appearance and erasure, so solid
mid-air, held there by the gimmicky
strings of the mind with its claptrap
room of miracles & ghostly
rigging & its stately passersby,
strings of code for hair & the rough
gloves of beasts hunted to
extinction, like us these hundred
years or so of truly last goodbye.
Accidental Antenna
luminous radar
Oh, wow, you are Stephanie Bobo. I remember reading you back in The Altar Collective. It was Lullaby, if I recall correctly. I’ve searched for your work before, I remember having a great zest for buying something of your authorship. At the time, I had never read anything remotely similar to how you write, and still today, your writing is profoundly nitid to me.
I’m so giddy, haha. What a find.
Many thanks for your kind and charming note!