An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Beggars Will Ride
If someone could furnish yellows
that whisper, purpling their way to my ear
and if a wasp's true wish is a whale
and carbon were clear on cloudy days
and cloudy on days that are clear
despite limbs lost on purpose
to prove a diminishing point
and if wrap-
around porches could seal futures,
the proscenium curling to baroque
while whirlpools grow fur to warm us
through winter's chromium,
might not a horse flick ears towards us,
toss forelocks, lift color, cannon and pastern
as if to invite?
We witnessed the meteor,
its trail, its promise,
tasted the falling star's banquet.
When we were children, we called snow
God's dandruff. So what is this bayou
but God's sweat pooled in moss?
Such deep boggy green.
Cypress rise, taper towards grey
as branches droop to skim
the quag, the sump.
Herons stride through
the crocodile circus.
A splash, high enough
to swallow a boxcar.
Long, long sizzle
and flaming rock
spews forth a stew
of saplings and birdsong.
The ringmaster's whip
cracks us to the table.
Butter crocks chill
in a nearby creek.
A flock of trombones
slides ever up
to the heavens, ever
down towards gorge.
Mikki Aronoff is from New Mexico. She is a writer and a visual artist, and is also involved in animal advocacy. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in 3Elements Literary Review, The Lake, EastLit, Virga, Love's Executive Order, bosque9, SurVision, Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, etc.