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Hello Ice

Diana Adams

BlazeVOX [books]
Buffalo, New York

Hello Ice by Diana Adams Copyright 2011 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Printed in the United States of America Book design by Geoffrey Gatza First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-014-9 Library of Congress Control Number 2010907779 BlazeVOX [books] 303 Bedford Ave Buffalo, NY 14216 Editor@blazevox.org

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W inter Sugar Its voice on the other end uses an excess of obscura. Ask the sportingly dressed coroner, is winter a terrible or terrific slope of time? Antidotes: elision, secret torte, white salt flowers in worn bowls, swans, virgin gin infused with the nervous quality of doves, watermelon silk, sliced diamonds, hand-written dishes, a mirador, sudden coition. Why did you just put your jacket over your head? Sturgeon swim our river at 35 below, eyes the color of avocados. Upstream the tree-line elopes with music extracted from forgotten cliffs. Daughters covered in mirth hover mid-air. It irks to hear them pick at pastries. Multi-foliate explosives, sugar cracks the carapaces of domestic spaces.

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Celery Boundaries of rib, strong as thighs, bear a height addiction. Each leaf pinned to a song cycle, several possible voltas near the fringe. Slipping thought out of its skin. Celeriac, like clear attack, practiced lemon-green, reverse to purple, and crying in taverns. More like a slice of marsh. Comparable to apples, hiding complex sonnets, a spy with the eyes of an aunt, rainy and sweet. Frilly, filled with strings.

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D ear Fox The color of sleep resembles undersides of stems. Echolalia green, fern and and germ combined. Consider the lemur, lost in mustard flowers, arboreal, nocturnal-demure cousin youll never encounter. Do not startle the partridges twined on my chest. Walk soft, worry is a sound, untuned.

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U nbuttoning

A tusked birch strikes the air, ghost notes spiral, hang over our table fern-like. Venerable animals slide out of the music playing. Lets be the first to open the cougars mouth. Grass stains a gum-ball tongue. The dusked voice digs us out, makes us tread in homesteaders stealth across the forest floor. Evening puts out feathers for us, a crack in the eye is a good place to hide. Dinner is served where rain falls erratic.

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Bird Play

The side view mirror has me more raven than crow larger, proud of dread, working with wasps on Tragedies in back alley garbage (islands of tin, one womans cruel work hangs untangled). Self-splitting is a dishevelling sport. Supporting pines are deeply upset, speaking lakes, trunks the strange beige of a Chilean tinamou egg. Air shingles between us, another elaborate plot breathing beings attached by unhappy accidents.

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Train I. In each compartment, bones. Irregular blunt, when reassembled there are odd resemblances. Yes, that woman, femurs carrying her scarved hips, secret antique about her, birded brows.

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II. The engine is fire, needling tree lines. On a bed inside, blocks of sound. Ripe play, if the evening ends on Jello, so be it, perfect confection escapes construction.

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III. A neat track is widening. Under stale star oil todays wind is available for work. As baritones whip the maidencane, a grouse sails. Freightage increases, hold out a glass, make all connections.

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