s o


my mother died, & I
was moth, my body
alert with warning
coloration. Instar,
I cut myself
out & started
again. I couldn’t
possibly have been
Atlas, colossal,
in plain sight. I was
different in the tree
of heaven. I imagined
wings & there were wings,
a long tail & a tail
appeared. What, friend, was
the algorithm
for myth? Why were
chromosomes telling me
death is
truth? I remember
when as a moth I dreamed
beautifully. King
of Kings, Lord of Lords
I woke without
a mouth.


L.S. Klatt has published four collections of poetry, most recently The Wilderness After Which. New poems of his have appeared or will appear in Northwest Review, Image, DIAGRAM, 32 Poems, The Southern Review, The Florida Review, and Copper Nickel.

[Purchase Issue 27 here.]

s o

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