Erin Moure
The Chord
Courageous lair “might prevail” Waking up to her your “yellow coal” Steals a its way Harm’s imbrogliatic murmur To concatenate Has been “said” A mortal habitation or cut in air That air leaks through
A Real Motorcycle
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the Poem, that the head Tries to excise. At 6 a. m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face On the porch rail in the rain. Heavy rains
The Cold
There was a cold In which A line of water across the chest risen (dream) Impetuate, or Impetuates Orthograph you cherish, a hand her Of doubt importance Her imbroglio the winnowing of ever Does