HOLLY HILL

Knock me off
the horse. You’re like
an actor. Are you with me
in the crèche? Hi Angel,
I heard her say to you once—
maybe more than once. Death’s
typist on the jet bridge—
the girls walk by,
sexually active.

IMAGO

no cows
no cars
dark on the slope

bring the hound
to the field
for a group photo

on the roof
with a power tool
what are you

THE SUN IS FOUNDERING OVER THE HARD COURTS

I have plundered
my life. There is no
plum left.

I will be there in ten
or twelve minutes.

PRÉCIS

Pile of pastel tails we’ve torn off the balloons with our teeth— she's laughing on the porch swing. French doors at the edge of the dance floor, blood betwixt my proximal surfaces— I don’t care if you love me! I will chop down some of the yard’s tall weeds!

GOOD NEIGHBORS

I like your dream
& lie among
its dunes
& steal from god
in my holey hat, trying
to get back there. Masses
of gray shrimps
on ice— that love
which makes you appear
ridiculous—

Liza Kotlar is the author of Hail (Wonder) & an editor at Age Daily. They live & work in New York City.