CONJUNCTIONS: A Web Exclusive

Four Poems Logan Burns

correspondence recovered Upon the comal crop, winter, I separate what’s mine. Mimic me. The burn barrel houses the maul, tetanus lipped in termite corner. I turn static before the story. Lice in the eye. Lice in the rag.                             forsake letter                             to form field                             geese landing In the ink posturings of the orient, I mourn — a fetish. Black font stitches white none. Grey birds unstitch their form, abstracting the field, blotting the paper. As watcher, I acquire their debt and recover the flown script. I heel a “V” over cock scrawl in fenced dirt. I edit the hectic domestics. Missive upon terra is recompense. Repent. Record. locketed felled bird and a sentence dropped on fragmentation in constant pose in compost in decompose and how to be rare in front of another the crows, they are innocent ungathered window is the locket walked into to place the face or to pull the sheet over is the coming of value is the “each year the light changes to save itself” room is the locket looked out of world hung around the neck everytime a door opens a flash, a glint off metal handed down Impossible to cut the mouth out. Negative limb, explain the day. Hand me down or hang me over. Covet something, or leave without having ever said. embalmed ashamed before your preservation from oblivion your enduction of balmy fragrance in transition to flue the dutch door privacy I could have mourned better I coud have stoked the furnace as I do now the proper bird at my window