Tom Snarsky
EMERGENCY
The axe, lit from the back
as it crashes through the glass
protecting half
a pixelated heart
to buy you / a little time
as it crashes through the glass
protecting half
a pixelated heart
to buy you / a little time
PREËXISTING
In the weird bank between the forest and now
you go to withdraw funds and the teller just laughs
at you. “Tell you what,” they say, their neutral
expression returning, “we can put you on a loan but
it’ll require some cigarette burns. Does that seem
doable?” The trees cringe. They know what’s up, what
violence can be done through small, incremental harms.
The village is full of neighbors. Respectfully, it is also full
of lies. The teller just tried the other week to fit
one more in—his body doesn’t make me think
of Goya—and the second they started to speak they felt
the air kicking back like a young horse, coltish
but firm. Suddenly it all seemed totally underwater. You
met the teller in the weeks right after this, don’t forget.
you go to withdraw funds and the teller just laughs
at you. “Tell you what,” they say, their neutral
expression returning, “we can put you on a loan but
it’ll require some cigarette burns. Does that seem
doable?” The trees cringe. They know what’s up, what
violence can be done through small, incremental harms.
The village is full of neighbors. Respectfully, it is also full
of lies. The teller just tried the other week to fit
one more in—his body doesn’t make me think
of Goya—and the second they started to speak they felt
the air kicking back like a young horse, coltish
but firm. Suddenly it all seemed totally underwater. You
met the teller in the weeks right after this, don’t forget.
Difference and Repetition
It starts with an ugly miracle—a scar
of foam on the surface of a lake. What cut
through the water, then clove it together
like a prizefight broadcast signal, its
millions of viewers all huddled around
their tiny screens? Sometimes we are only
unified in opposition. The dead grass
splinters outward from just off the beach.
of foam on the surface of a lake. What cut
through the water, then clove it together
like a prizefight broadcast signal, its
millions of viewers all huddled around
their tiny screens? Sometimes we are only
unified in opposition. The dead grass
splinters outward from just off the beach.
|
|
