Kristi Maxwell

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Lemur

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a beautiful outlaw lipogram

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Thinking is a shanty boat I go onto
on this good Ohio night
 

What is a window’s fantasy of what sight is?
What is a window’s fantasy?
 

Vision picks passion’s scab
 

Is a scab cash that was a body’s savings?
 

Is a body a ghost’s citation?
A ghost’s stowaway past?
 

Winnow this instant as if it is chaff
 

I saw a body that wasn’t a body
 

a shopping bag posing as snow atop hay
a twin pawning a notion of two
 

In this invitational, a coast fights its sinking
Not a job I’d want
 

What widows a window? No gazing?
No noticing that goat, that hint of noon on that
happy stoop, that siphon in that gas tank,
 

that kind of aching hatching knowing is

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Red Lechwe

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a beautiful outlaw lipogram

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in an imagist funk
 

ant on a sofa mistook as a mountain
 

big to it
 

baby possum atop a giant tomato
 

not a mom                   ova it, so ova it
 

a puffin says, if a puffin says, auks
 

a nosy moon snug against a gossipy sky
 

go—stab:               font isn’t ink’s outfit
 

okay, okay

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