[her twin was after me]
Dove-soused I tinted higher to change on a grit-purple fool’s neon. To waft gloat or wash in it. The bloated twin was after me. Thuggish in her then-silence I rendered ash to thud. To light laughter’s particular nagging glitter. In doe-muck I knit warps of song, manufactured by soft patting swill. Near the old ground dust lands on two better shards, a currency washed in hide, nostalgic bail. The old fuss puffs angles, detonates vibes out of an oblong tube hurled on her last try. I saw her then-human hands caress the gravel lot, searching for a beat, furtively, foolishly.
Ally Harris has had poems appear in Propeller, Noo Journal, Tarpaulin Sky's Chronic Content, Poor Claudia, and is the author of Floor Baby, a chapbook of poems put out by Dancing Girl Press. She has an MFA from the Iowa Writers Workshop and will have another chapbook coming out in Spring 2012 by Flowers & Cream Press.