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April Fool 2017

April 2, 2017 The Stay Project, Trump, Feminism


Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.* 

We're down the rabbit hole. Time has hopped an hour, the sun is in our beady eye and we can't tell the hero from the fool. Or maybe it's just the one.

What mad nonsense are you incubating like a baby chick about to crack?

Rave to us:

*Edna St. VIncent Millay

1 - Austin Anderson


scattered robins

flying the hip high ivy


grown fence to draw

my sight south


to the aspen, the firedrop

crowned house finch singing—


is every bird

call a song, every cloud


caught in the canyon a mist

or a fog, some


thunderhead lost

between a waterfall


& a lake. is every

fallen samara flightless


or every fish meat,

every deer game.


a stone held

by a girl who doesn’t know


the word for it

but drops


it & dusts

her hands:


is every stone

then of the earth


& dust

leaving us


to wash

ourselves & carve


out the wrinkles

of our eyes. is the rain


ever just water;

is there ever a drop


whose crystal

slips the ridge


of a nose & is

then not rain


& not water,

not sweat: but some


intercourse of the sky,

some rest descended—


a broken light

beaming the rippled crests


in a puddle; a wind

wrapping the fledgling


maple & stirring up the pine

needles in the grass; daffodil


trumpets sounding yellow

like the instant


around indigo

mountain silhouettes &


a blue-losing dawn.

is every breath


a composite: some sediment

layered salts, some howls


whose moon

waxes bone


white & starred

silver & croaking


& riverfoam

dragging reeds


along driftwood;

some mix of wet


dirt & sage, & the silence

between calling crickets

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