Patrizia Zues

High spring,The sounds at their

utmost registers.I am building

a language with my bike.Shame

make the  wheels go, shame

pumps its sick jet  fuel.

I am flying over tiny hills with moats.

of purple flowers.My fantasy

is evidence.My fantasy is a white  skull

gleaming through a bed of mulch.

I let  go of the handlebars  and heat

my chest with shame's gorilla fist

until the  tree get in my  way.

Nancy Drew before me,Nancy Drew 

behind me,Nancy Drew on all

sides of me.Lord,Hear my  prayer.

_Bridget Lowe