Faith Hill

Before the unfailing 
Perfect silence
Unhands secret knowledge
Of back ideas 
Does anyone want to
Hang out when 
It comes eveing
It will have a bullhorn 
Not my problem 
But it will pass through
And run among friends
Not in yr bowl 
But in a frame 
Again it will burn
Onto a convenient disc
It will be touched 
By the sun 
It will have no shirt on
Just stopping by 
Beach music really 
An unmissable beam
Of information
Whatever is done 
Will be practiced 
Impressive and clear
As something imagined
The thick of want 
Under a rippling 
Moment’s moon

Diet Coke Feeling

THE LAMB

THE LAMB

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

THE LAMB 

AND   AT   MEADOW’S   APOSTROPHE    AN    ORANGE   SCENT
SO   SUBLIME   AND    COOL   WILLS   DIMPLED    FLESH 
AGAINST   YOUR  OPEN  JAW  A  BLINKING  MIST  
WETS   YOUR    NERVES   AND    HOLY     BEDTIME    AWAITS   
THE   RIND   OF   MYTH   AND  EAGER  BLOOM   
CHIMES    A    HOPEFUL     BELL     AND    OPEN     IS  
THE     FIELD    OF     OPPORTUNITY   
WHERE   AT   LONG    LAST   
IT   IS   PLOWING   TIME   AGAIN

Anna Rahkonen is a writer and library worker from Alabama. Her poems have appeared in Angel Food, Antiphony, and Quarter Notes. She lives in New York City.