Lori Propheter



We keep our
legs under


blankets the
bones gleaming


in jelly like
concrete left in


a wheelbarrow
in the rain


the next day
leaves hang


under the surface
like beetles


under glass


We dress in
fiberglass our


spun sugar
tongues our


foreheads messy
with welts we


film in secret
from knots in


plywood the
tops of milk


cartons the screen
door lets the


cool air seep
in we passenger


pigeon the night


We drip dry
in the waiting


room our hair
shiny with fossils


moats circle the
automatic doors


our lockets leak
static the aisles


full of ashes
the tollbooths
come in waves


We secretary
the morning


the intersections
full of bells


we slide right
through like


swords through
stomachs empty


yawn of space
the snakes


swallow everything




LORI PROPHETER lives and works in DeKalb, Illinois. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poor Claudia, Storm Cellar, Sugared Water, and elsewhere. She is a poetry reader for GASHER Journal.