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.
Many thanks for your kind and charming note!
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.