Smoldering Arizona

Keith S. Wilson her wasting away like sugar-water in the smile of my arms. make-believe carillons of nectarines and pears, strike like fireflies finding mecca. i wear her like a net of fog. arizona, we are gaping through your ribcage at the stars—at our backs the crinkling giraffe of a flaming trailer—and we sigh into… More

Tinder

Keith S. Wilson there is a moment in learning a language, love, when the translation becomes a burden. the word is not there, nor the symbol—the sheep nor the razor nor the solid color blue. the sense shoots to the heart, like hemlock or prayer, and you crackle open, compliant to the godhead, and there… More