a bright bolt of cloud



beyond you the face in the window is the hand of the hill.
enlightenment is an objectís resistance to being.
life starts as an atlas in a cloth of scars.
an elegance of salted honey dripping.
all night you dream of the fights of the great bears.





the mapped brain is unlucky in its ways


clocks elapse
eclipse across the continent, you appreciate as
someone drills the hole for light
between your eyes

let that be your garden,
faddish and wide in scope

how do you fit all your selves into one body?





enamel on your skin


the sound of the earth moving as heard
from beneath the earth

morning edges over the sky like a bleached bone
you heard clattering all night
the rounded edges of a finger rolled as dice
the crimped line of a vein in your hand as it
lit up from within

Iím powerful like you
visible, viscous, drawing the entire
earth into my mouth.
breathe away the sickled smell of fresh
grass across the highway


________________________________________

Thera Webb enjoys people not pronouncing the silent H in her name. Her work can be found in Forklift Ohio, Finery, No Infinite, Hinchas de Poesia and in Privacy Policy, The Anthology of Surveillance Poetics. She is the author of two chapbooks: Reality Asylum (h_ngm_n) and On the Shoulders of the Bear (Fractious Press). She is the managing editor at Black Ocean.