Author: jentynes

headless box turtle is in fidelity

with the spring ephemerals    rib cage 

of a water bird is in fidelity 

with the actualized understory   

congressional movement of the meat

body   least attractive stretch

of neck    violets creating 

a permeable membrane  (redundant but

necessary)   a developing 

flush of golden

oysters   who else has tried 

to clock what the hour was 

withholding    I will eventually

stop refracting but for all 

you know this

is diamond class 

the hairs stand 

even in 

full sunlight   

the blood 

loss is

all mine

our pink and chocolate field

mushroom of a boyfriend 

saw the bear crossing 

plainfield    bluebells too 

long underwater to un 

scraggle    my lobes still

practically floating

I have stopped experiencing

the contract of days 

the cosmos this season 

chest finely threaded 

the wasp having

already   I’ll keep fingering

the ferns still 

in their paper  wobble 

my legs enough

to activate wilderness

why is this particular 

headwater so much

more iridescent? whatever

we mounted was in dreams–

where is the swamp master

of this unincorporated 

village? right where I left

them, sluice

in hand–

what happened at my consolation

knee deep in virgina 

bluebells, in floodwater 

dressing at best

like an American dagger 

our feelings drop

from the trees  surprise 

isn’t all that surprising

I am embodying the next 

verpa bohemica before my neurons

can acknowledge satisfaction 

I am full stop for the wrinkled

growth before the real

bonanza comes 

I have a diabolical lip 

moistener I could distribute more

evenly  I have extended my invitation

into the metallurgic future 

I am fully contained in this 

premature briar 

when I am 

telepathically crooning 

I still break out 

in somatic bruises 

when I grieve loose

fur is more likely 

to cling when 

I am lonely the understory

doesn’t give a fuck

if anything emphasizes

its dutchman’s breeches 

when I am delicious in 

some skin or other 

it doesn’t matter 

no one is calling back 

what swollen sound

scape displaces 

your best work 

for good? body

double bird 

too close to 

the ground       wet hollow blossoms

better with 

some rage bait

I have dropped

into a more or less

delightful splice 

o the fucking

exclamation of safe

grazes              wet star guide 

says bangled branches

have a tendency

to overabsorb

I have slipped 

skin again 

I am in my own 

fashion a teeth 

gnasher observing 

this pickled 

policy    of sponge

and release 

high vis glitter and rube

goldberg rain

I’ll admit to sometimes

being hot for the wrong

orchestra      silent confirmation

of broom forkmoss silent

confirmation of marsh

marigold      a killdeer

metamorphosizes to complain 

over our lackluster

skillset     the violets really

piling up  meanwhile 

the bark adopts

all my palms

for resonance   this unregistered

vehicle recollects 

cordyceps this 

unregistered 

vehicle reclaims gold

bitchily attempting to reinvent bushcraft

I know no

other way print a picture

of turkey vulture

feathers on the edge

of the road

hold the fold

to the light let the throat emote

the divine amphibian

after the transition

your head may no longer

rotate 360

think of it as entering a tunnel

of fuck from which 

you once saw light

skim dimly

fresh eyes

all over

the place

are you

with me

dressing for the golden-crowned

kinglet’s gaze         overexplains

my panting              overexplains 

why we’re all out

of extension cords again

what is the opposite 

of an ovipositor

pull a feather

weather

dependent

what are we eating

these days 

erotic as air

stickily removing itself

from a balloon

the vernal body stays

in bed watching

massasauga rattlesnake

outtakes

that’s it

that’s the commitment

complete transparency

with the dirt lot magnolia

complete transparency

with the river red bud only our dead

friend can actually 

name safe 

word    skin

sensation    no 

language    face 

plant 

heirloom      fuckweed

probably sounds prettier

PROBABLY SOUNDS PRETTIER

where you come from

what can the radio

reasonably broadcast

not the river giving 

sleep paralysis      reevaluating 

safe play structures naturalizing 

literal kittens      doing

a deep dive 

into your bird

of the day

tender tooth and tongue

coming in between stations 

in this episode of floodcast

snowmelt overflows my final hoof print

the martin maintains a deep alien

shade, no direct address

necessary when speaking 

with hepatica and bloodroot      we discover

we’re our own demon lovers 

hot pink hair shirts hiss and giggle

Am I enough daddy to divide

and conquer rusty blunder

only briefly in migration

sharpshinned corners kind of

like         kind of light      salmon

background says 

a lot about you      big beefy

straddle bug    little golden

misery    (who’s been sleeping

in my hair)    a flower 

folds over so skin 

can begin       my friend

remembers longer

seasons of snake

grass   my beloved

number never

comes up

Once I had a colicky knot

on all fours and growling 

straddling sense in the middle

of a slick season    the heart basically

butterflies eats meat just like

a squeegee the intention actually

a cluster of much smaller 

flowers     language     passes

gives us some

shivers

having a “shut up” cousin 

having three bodies and no cites

having made a spiritual transaction

having bluebells (won’t kill you) 

having your lips disappear

having at least one set of your lips disappear

having forgotten how to call a giant leaf into service

having mispronounced the deepest part of the tide pool

having spent a few minutes in grayscale bellowing 

having a conversation (won’t kill you) 

swaddled in creased velvet 

swaddled much too loosely in creased velvet

The silent “h” in butterfly, the silent “h” in petrichor. How can I occupy

my hands when my hands are busy. Hot pink turkey vultures reassert

the commonplace. Taking off and putting on 

imaginary blood studs, the outer edges

become less toothy. Our body now as

stable as a songbird. No sign of

northern pike in the days

that followed

but a matted

ball at the

neck hunks 

or hanks deep

turkeys dark

whirlwinds

the silent “h”

in bluebells