• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 04
Image by


Here is recognized
a swarm on flighty wings.

The painted squadron, drunk,
is eyed with beady sheen,

is flicker flitter flutter.
Hair-rushed, wide-eyed, as if

caramel insect shadows
and a nectar-tasting swarm

are so hypnotic: lady,
pinned in mundane earthy

curlicues (with real
weathered leather), whither

to turn? Parting solid
sky, beyond sense, find

scene or state or stage
of air-brushed swallowtails.

(Words borrowed from Stephen Kingsnorth’s “Painted Lady”)