from SONNETS

5 [dow]


There's no vitality, no bisecting finery. Sequences, biunivocalities nevertheless include a sense of closed-cell arrays, a sense of sacs / arcs. To pivot from one foot to the next in a garden. A garden that is interior to after-life, exterior to our sense of finitude. Half the time, a fantasia will drown you in the future, where teethmarks indicate new types of history. A swarm can double as a teething, a deer—expanded (not extruded)—can double as an equilibrium. One of these will keep you warmer than the other. The heart is the last organ known to ravel rather than rotate.

"My life closed twice."

In other words, I was much worse off. No one emerged from the forest. An undulation was defined as the combination of memory and tension, which was what made peristalsis so terrifying. A curl was rarely finite. The rafts, when deployed, would fill up quickly with foam, dawn.


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Kylan Rice has poetry published or forthcoming in Gauss-PDF, Houseguest, [out of nothing], Ghost Proposal, Gigantic Sequins, and elsewhere. He is an MFA candidate at Colorado State University, where he produces Colorado Review's podcast.